


The Doctor & The Mastermind

by FourCornersHolmes



Series: The Assorted & Collected Misadventures of John H. Watson, RAMC, MD [4]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Almost forget them!, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awesome Greg Lestrade, BAMF John Watson, BAMF Sebastian Moran, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Doctor John Watson, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Hurt Jim Moriarty, Jim Moriarty is a Brat, Jim is John Watson's problem now, John is a Saint, M/M, Minor Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft's Meddling, Not Canon Compliant, Oops, Out of Character, Parent!lock, Q and Mallory were MI-6 BEFORE Skyfall, Q is a Holmes, Sebastian Moran & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sorry Not Sorry, Sweetheart Jim Moriarty, eventually, johniarty, mystrade, nobody important dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-09-12 20:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 68,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCornersHolmes/pseuds/FourCornersHolmes
Summary: John Watson had lived a fairly standard, slightly boring life until he decided to go to the Army. They had paid for medical school in exchange for service, which he thought was more than fair for a kid from a lower-middle class family strapped for cash and nothing more advanced than a secondary-school education. Getting shot and shipped home half-delirious and useless had been possibly the worst experience of John’s life. But, he’d done his best to pick up the pieces of his life once he could think straight. Then, he’d met one of the most remarkable people in the world. He’d met Sherlock Holmes. An old med-school friend had introduced them and the rest was…well, sort of history. Everything got far, far more interesting after they were introduced to a gentleman named Jim Moriarty.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is an interesting little Johniarty fic that sprang from a random prompt I found on the NaNoWriMo Word Sprints page: "Have your antagonist meet up with your protagonist in a bakery." This...is where the prompt took me. This is very much a Work In Progress, so I may be slow to update. Please enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a prelude. The calm before the storm, if you will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real action here, that's coming. This one is a bit short, I admit. Sorry about that. Please enjoy.

* * *

* * *

John Watson had lived a fairly standard, slightly boring life until he decided to go to the Army. They had paid for medical school in exchange for service, which he thought was more than fair for a kid from a lower-middle class family strapped for cash and nothing more advanced than a secondary-school education. It had been perfect for John, he got to study and go to university, travel the world, and help people while also serving his country. Things had been great until he was deployed to Afghanistan and everything fell apart. The beginning of the end was a normal day of patrols and helping villagers, nothing spectacular. Then they were ambushed and John was shot from behind while helping one of his Marines.

 

Getting shot and shipped home half-delirious and useless had been possibly the worst experience of John’s life. But, he’d done his best to pick up the pieces of his life once he could think straight. He found housing in a government-run block in London, cheap but still too expensive, getting by on a meagre pension that was better than absolutely nothing, his days occupied with counselling and physical therapy appointments and staring at his walls (or his gun) or drowning his sorrows in a bottle of cheap whiskey the rest of the time. He managed to get himself together for the funerals of his friends, those he’d lost when during the ambush that had seen him dismissed from service and left adrift in a city that didn’t feel like home at all, but even that was effort.

 

Then, he’d met one of the most remarkable people in the world. He’d met Sherlock Holmes. An old med-school friend had introduced them and the rest was … well, sort of history. John was thrilled to have a stable place to live (stable being relative, of course), someone to live with more importantly, and work to do. Not standard work, of course, Sherlock Holmes was a private detective, a consulting detective and the only one of his kind in the world that John knew of. Certainly the only one in the country. Sherlock had an ominous, interfering older brother who tried to buy John off in exchange for information about Sherlock, John turned him down flat; and a Detective Inspector with The Metropolitan Police Service who came to him for help on cases. Some were harder than others, but it was always interesting to see Sherlock get to the conclusion and the answers before anyone else. They argued about normal domestic things like whose turn it was to do the dishes or the laundry, or who’d left wet towels on the bathroom floor. But then there were the more unusual things he dealt with. Clients coming to see his flat-mate on business, various body-parts in different states of decomposition in the fridge next to similarly expiring comestibles, fits of inactivity that lasted days at a time, hours of violin playing (usually at 3 am, while John was trying to sleep), not always played well, and there were the times Sherlock would leave the flat and not return for days at a time. John started writing up their misadventures on his therapist-mandated blog, and gained quite a readership. It made for much better reading than reflections on the different shades of tan in his bedsit walls and the nightmares that had him reaching for his gun more than once.

 

Everything got far, far more interesting after they were introduced to a gentleman named Jim Moriarty. He had been living with Sherlock for roughly two months by that time and was more or less used to the way his life was lived these days. Then he was kidnapped and taken hostage by a mystery bomber who had been sending them ominous messages and clues, leading them and the police on a merry, frantic chase. It turned out to be Jim Moriarty, whom John remembered meeting at Saint Bart’s not even twelve hours prior. That experience was a turning point for John, and for Sherlock. Text-messages were far more frequent between them after that, John would follow Sherlock if he wasn’t home within two days and find him, Sherlock stopped leaving him out of cases as often. It was preservation that drove them, at least for a while.

 

But, as always, things settled down in the aftermath and it was back to talking to each other in the mornings, John berating Sherlock for … something or other, usually a body-part left where it had no business being or a wet towel left on the bathroom floor, Sherlock getting into his silent, sulky moods. Their communication while out of the flat didn’t stop, though, it just … tapered off. John started spending more time on his own, started spending longer hours outside of the flat beyond the time he was out with Sherlock. Sherlock, of course, didn’t care much for his comings and goings, usually asking where he was going without really demanding a full answer or honestly caring about the where.

“Out. Be back later.” Usually sufficed, only because it was the exact same thing Sherlock said to him when he left on one of his wanderings.

“Well, be careful. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That’s not hard.” John would roll his eyes with a grin and shrug into his coat as he headed down the stairs with his keys in hand. Sherlock would watch him from the window as he set off into the streets by himself, John always made sure to wave before setting off on foot. Sometimes he wouldn’t see Sherlock again for several hours, sometimes not for days if he returned to Baker Street and Sherlock had gone out himself; other times it was only a matter of time before he got some text or other with word of a new case for which Sherlock _needed_ him. Asking where and when usually got him a location and a time-frame, and John would then find a way to meet Sherlock wherever he was in the city.

* * *

* * *

 


	2. My Enemy, My Friend: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Jim. They have a surprisingly quiet, friendly encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin: Part 1. This is a two-part chapter.  
> **  
> Jim might seem very OOC, and I would apologize for that, but this is the way he came into my head for this story. This is how John sees Jim Moriarty, not just as a charming, creepy criminal mastermind but as a normal bloke who just wants one friend in the world.

* * *

* * *

It was a rather unremarkable day in March when John pocketed his keys and wallet, made sure he had his phone, and prepared to go out. It was just after noon, the kitchen was clean (for once), the sitting-room was slightly less clean, and Sherlock was…well, he wasn’t home. That was fine, John knew where he was. At the moment, buried in the morgue at Saint Bart’s with Molly Hooper. Then he planned to stop by The Met to see Lestrade. John didn’t care what Sherlock did, as long as he didn’t do anything stupid and end up getting into trouble. As he left the house, he called out to Mrs Hudson, who waved a bit distracted.

“Be safe, dear!” She called out.

“Will do, Mrs Hudson! Say hi to Mr Barner for me!” He smiled as he let himself out. Locking up, he pocketed his keys and looked around before settling on a direction and walking. Sherlock had gotten him into the habit of walking everywhere, and it kept him in shape regardless.  So that was a bonus.

 

After a while, he stopped for lunch, ducking into a bakery for coffee and something to eat. Just a quick pick-me-up, he wasn’t absolutely starving.  He caught a glimpse of his reflection and smiled. The shirt he’d picked out that morning was just the perfect shade of green, he liked what it did for his eyes. Not too dark, not too bright, and certainly not tacky. Subtle blue/green check, it was a nice, comfortable shirt. He wore it year-round, usually with a jumper in the cooler months and by itself or with an undershirt in the warmer months.

 

When his turn was up, John placed his order. Just a chicken and bacon sandwich with a filter coffee, nothing special. As he got his wallet out to pay, he happened to look over his shoulder and caught sight of a familiar face in the queue. He almost didn’t recognize the man at first, he looked a little…ragged, but John only knew one person who had that face.

“Oh, and can I pay for the gentleman two behind me in line?” He handed his card to the barista, who raised an eyebrow.

“Sir?”  

“He’s right there.” John pointed him out to the girl, “I’d like to buy his lunch, please.”

“Oh. Of course, sir.” The girl smiled at him and did something on her keypad. She handed his card back and he stepped out of line. Finding a table, he sat down and waited for his food to come. He was reading the papers, case-hunting out of habit, when he was aware of someone standing next to the table. It wasn’t the server, he knew that without looking too far up.  Fitted denims, but not “skinny” fit, just nicely tailored, a blue v-neck over a Henley for the weather the way John wore a jumper with his button-down. He wore nice but sensible shoes. And, just a hint of bright green at the waistband of his denims.

“Good morning, Mr Moriarty.”

“You bought me lunch.”

“I’m feeling generous.” He returned to the papers, “Sit down if you’d like to join me.”

“Thank you.” London’s underdressed criminal mastermind took the seat across from John. “Where’s Holmes?”

“At Saint Bart’s with your … girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Break up?”

“I’m not supposed to be the one getting dumped.” He sounded so upset John tried not to laugh.

“Welcome to the ranks of the lowly unworthy.” He glanced up at his company, “I take it she was the one who did the dirty work?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing is worse than a girl telling you it’s over, but it’s not you, it’s her.” John sighed, “Believe me, I know.”

“I’m shocked.”

“By what?”

“That anyone would break up with … well, you.”

“You’d be surprised.” He folded the papers and looked at Moriarty properly. He didn’t say anything, but his alarm was obviously quite clear on his face.

“I can’t possibly look that awful.”

“Um.” John spotted a server coming their way with a tray. “Well, to be fair, you don’t…uh, you don’t look like yourself. At all. Like, if I didn’t know who you were, I never would have recognized you. I don’t know if that’s on purpose or if that’s really just how bad it’s gotten for you after Molly Hooper broke up with you.” And if John hadn’t known what the man seated across from him was capable of at the top of his game, he never would have believed it was the same person who had taken him hostage in Camden a year earlier.

“Alright, gents! Here you go!” The server had reached them and laid down two plates and two cups of coffee. “Does everything look right?”

“Yes, thank you.” Moriarty gave the server a passable smile.

“Alright, well just give a shout if you need something! My name is Rebecca, just give a wave if you see me.” Bless her soul, she was trying so hard to flirt. Unfortunately, John wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend and, if he wasn’t mistaken, Moriarty was gay. Once she was gone, John picked up his cup of coffee. But he stopped halfway and stared at it for a minute.

“What’s wrong with your coffee, Doctor Watson?”

“Sorry, I’m so used to Sherlock putting shit in my coffee.” He shrugged and took a sip, “I’m fairly certain he’s drugged me just for the hell of it, for “research”.”

“Hmm.” That got a chuckle out of Moriarty.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” John rolled his eyes and took a bite of his sandwich. Moriarty gave a nonchalant shrug as they ate. John knew he shouldn’t be so…comfortable being so close to someone who had recently tried to kill him, but he didn’t feel threatened by Moriarty. The man sitting across from him, quietly eating his lunch and keeping up conversation, didn’t look anything like a criminal mastermind who ruled the London underworld. And probably a few international syndicates for good measure.  It was like sitting with a friend he hadn’t seen in a long time, catching up with each other on the things they’d missed in each other’s lives. It was nice to just...talk to someone. Not just about Sherlock, he noticed. They found other things to talk about, other things in common.

 

After fifteen minutes, they were laughing. John couldn’t remember who had started it, or what had been said, but he thought it was a glimpse of the vulnerable. He didn’t think many people got to see this side of Jim Moriarty, were allowed to get close enough to see it. But then, why was he allowed to? What made him so different from everyone else in Moriarty’s life?

“Oh, John Watson, you treasure!” Moriarty took a sip of water, chuckling, “God, if I had twelve of you, I’d rule the world!”

“Guess it’s a good thing there’s just one of me, then.” He grinned, shrugging. “Although, I don’t know how happy Sherlock would be having to share with you. He’s so bloody possessive.”

“Forget about Sherlock Holmes! Who said _I_ wanted to share!” Moriarty raised an eyebrow, “By the way, just call me Jim?”

“Oh…are you…um, really?” John blinked.

“Yes, really.”

“Okay. Um. It’ll probably take me a while, I’ve never thought of you as anything but Mr Moriarty.” He picked up the remains of his sandwich, “No offence, it’s just…”

“You never had to.”

“You never had friends as a child, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh, please. Don’t call me “sir”.” John sighed, “John, please. I hate it when people call me “sir”, it reminds me too much of the blockheaded recruits who couldn’t tie their boots properly and thought taking orders was discretionary, not compulsory.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Short of conscientious objection? Not by a bloody long shot.” He finished his sandwich.

“Well, since you asked nicely, I’ll call you John.” Moriarty’s smile wasn’t threatening or mean, it was…soft? Not a word he would have used to describe Jim Moriarty or anything about him. He knew it was a bad idea to fraternize with the enemy, but he got the feeling that Moriarty, Jim, just needed some company. John had certainly been there, he knew what it was like. After they had finished eating and their plates and cups were empty, they stacked their dishes for the bussers and left the café. John, on a hunch, double-checked his phone. Nothing from Sherlock, not that he’d expected anything. He sent a quick text and received an equally speedy response.

 

**May not be home tonight. Don’t wait up, I’ll be in touch. – SH**

As  John read that response, he snorted. Typical. He showed Jim the message in question and saw the other man’s eyes brighten. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes lit up. If anyone else understood how Sherlock’s mind worked, it was probably Jim Moriarty.

“Oh, that’s interesting. I take it this means you’re off the hook until further notice, then?”

“Unless Lestrade calls for an extra pair of eyes on a case, I’m not busy.” He shrugged as he pocketed his phone. “Why? Did you have something in mind?”

“Potentially.”

“Well, in the interest of full disclosure, it may not be a good idea to remain in public too much longer. Christ only knows how long it’s going to take before Mycroft Holmes figures out where I am and who I’m with.”

“Who says he can see you right now?” The sly, sneaky smile he got from Jim was strangely reassuring.

“Because the man has more bloody fucking CCTV cameras than most people own anything useful.” He caught sight of one such camera out of the corner of his eye and debated flipping it off for good measure. Yes, Mycroft could probably see him, but short of 12-point facial-rec being run on any clear shot they got of Jim’s face, there was no way anyone who worked for Sherlock’s brother would know exactly who he was with.

“You don’t like his brother, do you?”

“The man tried to threaten me the first time we had anything to do with each other! I was a fucking soldier, I saw combat in some of the hottest war-zones in the world! What did he think I would do? Fall to my knees and cower?”

“Well, to be fair, I did almost the very same thing. And he didn’t strap you into a Semtex vest with enough explosives to level a house.”

“Might as well have! Christ.” John rolled his eyes. “Y’know, for all the madness, that actually wasn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me.”

“I know.” The sadness in Jim’s voice was a little surprising. John wasn’t quite sure how he would know anything useful about the incident that had sent John home, but it wouldn’t surprise him if he did. After all, the man had resources to rival Mycroft’s.

“Out of curiosity, how much do you know and how did you find out about it?”

“I know the man who picked you up from the bottom of Salang Pass, John. When you managed to walk out of the mountains after six months in captivity more dead than alive and they found you with three trucks and a helicopter.”

“You…” He blinked. “How on earth do you know Seb Moran?”

“Probably the same way you do, just a bit less…formally.”

“Don’t tell me he saved your life?”

“Says he saved me from myself.”

“Sounds like the same thing he told me the first time we met.”

“What were you doing the first time you met?”

“Sitting on a caravan of damaged trucks waiting for back-up and relief to show up before anyone else died under my hands. I was covered in enough blood to scare a voodoo priest and all he did was take one look at me, grab me by the wrist to check my pulse, and then dumped half a reserve jug of water over my head to clean me off before we shipped back to base.”

“That sounds like Seb, alright.”

“Then, he sat on me for two weeks, wouldn’t let me out of his sight until he was dead certain I wasn’t going to try anything stupid and get into trouble when he wasn’t there to get me out of it again.”

“And then you did just that.”

“You should have seen the look on his face when they found me, I didn’t know if he was going to finish the job the Taliban started or kiss me.”

“I think we both know which option he took, John.” Jim smiled and John was aware of a brush against his hand. Accidental contact? Well, they were walking far closer than most people, casual acquaintances, usually did. John tested a theory and bumped into Jim as they walked, using the excuse of letting someone pass him on the right. It was a brush of shoulders, a bump of hips, casually and easily brushed off as accidental. When he got Jim smiling, not smirking, he chuckled. It didn’t take much, apparently. He hummed a bit and looked for another opportunity. He wondered if anyone recognized Jim, and realized he didn’t actually care.

 

As they walked, they kept talking. John decided that he really liked making Jim laugh, no one else seemed able to or bothered to try. And the fact that Jim let him was a sign of trust he wasn’t expecting to see so soon. And yet, Jim seemed fully willing to trust John. It was…bizarre but touching. Not that he really minded, it seemed like ages since he’d had enough time to spend with anyone exclusively without Sherlock getting himself involved somehow.

 

Of course, John knew better than to think things would remain quiet or peaceful. So, when they were jeered at and familiar homophobic slurs were thrown around, John carefully reached over and took Jim’s hand.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Just don’t.” He murmured. “If they pick a fight after we’ve ignored them, they will be charged with hate crimes and assault. But that doesn’t count if we provoke them.”

“Hey! Hey, fags! Want some of this?” One of the hecklers made a suggestive gesture.

“Ignore them.”

“John, how can you stand this?!”

“Because it’s what I grew up with.”

“Hey, don’t walk away, girls! Give us a show!”

“Leave us alone, we’re not bothering anyone,” John said calmly, turning to face the thugs.

“Oh! Oh, wait a minute! I know you!” The ringleader looked right at John and showed crooked teeth with a mean leer. “You’re the sidekick!”

“John.”

“Wait.”

“Hold it! You’re Watson! John fucking Watson!” That started off a ripple of chuckles and rude comments.

“Hey, hey! Where’s your boyfriend!”

“He’s working. And it’s none of your business if we’re flat-mates or more. Stop talking to us.”

“Or what, Princess?” The ringleader, a big guy twice John’s weight and about his height, typical lower-class criminal thug, leaned in close. “What’re you gonna do? Hit me?” John felt Jim’s hand close tight around his. These were probably some of Jim’s criminal-class thugs, which just made it funnier that they didn’t even recognize their own fucking boss.

“Can I kill them?” Jim murmured. “Please?”

“Not in public.”

“Come on, Twink! Take a swing, I’ll give ya a free shot!”

“He’s not gonna do it, Jep, he’s too pansy!” One of the toadies sneered, “Not such a tough guy without yer detective, are ya?”

“John.”

“Shh.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen!” A voice interrupted the stand-off and John almost heaved a sigh of relief. “What’s the problem here?”

“John, we have incoming.”

“I know. Stay calm.” He carefully and subtly put himself between Jim and the thugs, at the same time shielding him from the oncoming Met officers.

“It’s Lestrade!”

“I know.”

“Hey, butt out, pal! We don’t need no interference.” Jep snarled, turning to face Greg Lestrade, who had Sally Donovan in tow as always. They were nowhere near The Met, he wondered what they were doing in the area. Probably on business nearby, on patrol maybe. Maybe on lunch break, or coming off a call in the neighbourhood.

“Would you like to repeat yourself, sir?” Greg had no problem calmly flashing his badge at the thugs, “Because if you don’t back off and leave these two men alone, I’ll be happy to have you and your cronies up for public disorder and harassment of private citizens.” Well, that sort of worked. Sort of. Before any of them could move, Jep lunged. He wasn’t going after John or Jim, he was going after Greg. John reacted just as fast, his reflexes on point today, and before Jep could touch Greg, he had the thug on his front, face pressed against the pavement, kneeling on the bloke’s shoulders.

“Bad idea, mate. That’s assault on a police officer! That doesn’t look good on your record, does it?”

“Get off me!” Jep roared, “Ryder! Malec!”  There were four of them and, counting the pinned Jep, five thugs. But that didn’t matter. Greg and Donovan did their jobs beautifully, and Jim took out one of the cronies who went after John while his back was turned.

“John!” He yelled a split second before the attack came. John was on his knees already, with one of the thugs Greg had brought down, and he ducked. A minute later, a body went sailing over his head and landed on the pavement with a heavy, sick thud. Greg called for reinforcements and it wasn’t long before all five of the thugs were handcuffed and carted off to Holding to answer some questions when Greg could get around to it. Or, someone else would do the questioning.

“You boys alright?” Greg came to where John and Jim sat on the back of an ambulance. “Nice moves there, John.”

“Thanks, Greg. We’re fine.” He looked at Jim, who was sitting still for the medics. “You should see the other guys.”

“Smart arse.” Greg rolled his eyes and tipped John’s head back, “Eh, you’ve looked worse. Nothing to scar that pretty face.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” He made a face. “So, what the hell were you doing in this part of town anyway? We’re not exactly close to Headquarters.”

“Sal and I were on our way back to the office after closing a scene and the call came over the radios. Said a couple of blokes were being harassed in Russell Square by a pretty sizeable gang. When they describe the victims, I knew it was you they were talking about.”

“So, you weren’t sicked on us by any interfering elder Holmeses, then?”

“Uh, no. Haven’t heard from him yet.” Greg frowned, “Did see Sherlock, called him for the case. Said you were out on your own, didn’t think you’d get in trouble.”

“You know he’ll just laugh when he finds out about this.”

“You’re kind of a moron.”

“He’s my moron, Inspector,” Jim said quietly. “We didn’t provoke those thugs, they just…”

“Yeah, I know.” Greg sighed. “We see more of it than I’d like, honestly. I’m just glad the two of you are okay, I’ve seen that kind of shit get violent.”

“Do you want our statements now, Greg?”

“Yeah, if…you don’t mind coming in?”

“Sure.” John looked over at Jim, who shrugged. Cooperating with police wasn’t his favourite pastime, but it was important.

“We’ll meet you at Headquarters.” He amended.

“Sure. I’d offer you boys a ride, but…”

“Habit.” John shrugged, “Sorry, Greg. I know you were busy.”

“Nah. See you boys in a few, then.” Greg smiled and shook John’s hand, which turned into a hug. He looked over at Jim, who looked quite unthreatening in his casual get-up, and raised an eyebrow.

“Wow. Nice job, John.”

“Greg!” He scolded. Not that his sexuality was any secret to Greg.

“What! He’s cute! Looks like he could probably kill me in my sleep and make it look like an accident, but he’s a bloody good sight better than some of your other dates.”

“Oh, my god.” John groaned, “Greg, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Greg ruffled his hair and rallied Donovan. Once they were gone, John asked the medics if he could take Jim, they had business to see to.

“Yeah. You’re both good.”

“Thanks, lads.” John took Jim’s hand in his and waved to the medics, who knew him from other encounters in the course of a case with Sherlock.

“See you later, Doctor Watson!” They waved back.

 

As they headed down the street to find a way to The Met, Jim looked at him.

“Are you embarrassed by this?”

“What?”

 “By…me?”

“Oh, what Greg said?” He shook his head. “No, no. That’s just…how Greg is. He likes to pick on me because he can’t really get away with picking on Sherlock that much.”

“Do you think he recognized me?”

“I…I don’t know. I mean, he might have, but I don’t know if he did or not.” He shrugged, “I do know that those idiot thugs didn’t recognize you at all, or they wouldn’t have put hands on us.”

“It’s amazing what kind of anonymity a few days’ stubble and casual clothes can give a man.”

“I like this look. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you make a tailored Vivienne Westwood look absolutely sinful, but throw on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt and you have my full attention.” John moved a bit closer to Jim as they walked down the street, carefully taking his hand.

“Stop, you’re making me blush.”

“I know.” He smiled, “Do you really want me to stop? Because I will.”

“Oh. Um. N-no. It’s…fine.” Jim looked down at their hands and then up to meet John’s gaze. That wasn’t very hard, they were nearly the same height. “It’s…it’s all fine, John. I don’t…do this. I don’t let people touch me or get close, but you…”

“Lucky me?”

“I think it’s lucky me. You’re…different.” Jim smiled, “I mean, you’re not what I was expecting.”

“What? The pool? You didn’t expect me to behave like that, did you?”

“You were stubborn and even out of your head with drugs, you had an attitude. I meant what I said earlier when I said I wished I had twelve of you.” Jim squeezed his hand, “You’re one of a kind. I feel bad about any trouble you’ll get into.”

“Don’t. I don’t care, I really don’t.” He noticed a car that had been following them for a few blocks and narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, I’m fairly certain that’s not one of Mycroft’s cars, they would have stopped already. That yours?”

“Oh.” Jim looked over his shoulder and spotted the Jaguar. “Oh for…yes, that’s mine. Come on, I think we’d better take the offer before he gets pushy.”

“After you!” John shrugged and gave Jim a little push. The Jag slid out traffic and stopped at the kerb. The driver’s door popped open and the driver emerged smoothly but with a bit of hurry to his step.

“Mr Moriarty.”

“Thank you, Seb. New Scotland Yard, please. Victoria Street.”

“Aye, sir.” The driver held the back door for them, giving John a brief study and a bright smile. “Good to see you, John.”

“You, too, Colonel.” John nodded as he ducked into the car, “Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime, Captain. Told you, didn’t I? I’d come get your sorry arse if you ever needed a ride somewhere.”

“Yeah, last time after you dragged me out of the desert.”

“At least I found you alive. Still had to make those bastards pay for it, but you were alive. That’s what mattered.” Sebastian Moran didn’t get misty-eyed about much, but John’s daring escape from captivity was definitely high on the list of things that rated.

“Thanks for that.” He sighed. Once he was settled in the back seat of the Jag next to Jim, Seb closed the door and hopped in the front.

“Victoria Street, gents?”

“Thank you, Seb.”

“You got it.” He smiled at them and put up the divider to give them privacy.

“Well, Seb likes you.” Jim looked at John and smiled. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Nah, he’s…always been there when I needed him. I felt bad about losing touch, but I didn’t have the first clue how to look for him after I got back on my feet.” John looked out the tinted windows as they drove from Russell Square to The Met, “He’d discharged out by then and I was in such a bad place I didn’t want to bother anyone else.”

“He wanted to reach out to you, John, he really did. But he wasn’t…”

“He wasn’t sure I’d be any happier to see him than I was sure he’d want anything to do with me in the first place.” John sighed. “I’m an idiot.”

“Well, fine, but you’re my idiot. Don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re plenty smart. Not like Sherlock or I, but you don’t have to be. You’ve got street-smarts and empathy. ” Jim bumped shoulders with him, “I don’t know very many people with your history who are half as kind as you are.  To those who deserve your kindness, and those who don’t.”

“It’s part of my nature, part of my training. I never really learned how to be deliberately mean to someone just to spite them.” He shrugged, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m just as good at killing as I am at healing, but that’s…”

“That’s just who you are. And if anyone has asked you to change who you are because they don’t like part of you, you’re better off without them in your life.” That was probably the most human thing John had ever heard Jim say and he just spent a minute staring at the other man.

“Jim, were you…”

“Yes. Rather more often than I would have preferred, it turned me into the man I am today. I was driven by anger and injustice. The people who hurt me the most were never brought to justice for their crimes because no one thought…”

“No one thought that what they’d done to you was wrong in the first place. You were sub-human, so why should your wants and feelings matter?” John frowned, “Christ, Jim. No wonder you’re so…”

“I’m sorry, John. You don’t…”

“Hey, listen to me.” He put one hand on Jim’s shoulder, “I don’t care. You’ve been nicer to me today than just about anyone else I’ve met since I started living with Sherlock Holmes.”

“I think Greg Lestrade is an exception.”

“He’s a good drinking buddy.” Greg was also a good source of employment when Sherlock’s cases ran dry, like they sometimes did, and John could count on showing up at Headquarters during a dry spell and spending a few hours on some of the cases cluttering Greg’s desk. But Greg was only a friend, which was really all John needed from him.

 

When the car stopped ten minutes later, he knew they’d reached The Met. Seb held the door for them again and offered to stick around to take them wherever they wanted to go once they’d done their duty to The Met.

“That’ll do, Seb. I’ll text.” Jim looked up at the façade of the building and frowned. “The sooner the better.”

“Come on, we can make this quick.” John led the way into the building and up to Greg’s office. He was already working on the paperwork for the scuffle in Russell Square and just handed over the packets for them to fill out.

“You can have the work-table, room to spread out a bit.”

“Thanks, Greg.” John took two pencils and headed for the work-table where he had spent many an hour doing this very thing. He sat on one side, Jim sat on the other, and they filled out their reports in silence.

“John?” Jim asked softly as Greg took a phone call.

“Hmm?”

“Which name should I write down?”

“Oh.” He looked up, “Um, I’d say your given name. Do you have an alias?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t seem…right to use it.”

“Just put your given name down.”

“Okay.” Jim returned to his packet and it was quiet again. Whatever the phone-call was, it was clearly serious, Greg did not look happy.

“Yes, sir. I understand. Yes, sir, I will.” A pause as he listened. “Of course, Mr Holmes, you have my word. Yes, sir, thank you for calling. Good afternoon, sir. Thank you.”

“I was wondering when he would figure it out,” Jim muttered. “He’s getting slow in his old age.”

“Nosy wanker.” John shook his head and kept writing as Greg hung up on Mycroft Holmes. Once they had their reports squared away, he gave them to Greg, who double-checked everything. To his credit, he didn’t look terribly surprised to see Jim’s name at the top of the second packet.

“Well, Mr Moriarty, should I keep an eye on the body-count if those five goons get back out on the streets anytime in the next forty-eight hours?”

“Don’t be terribly surprised if our rather stupid Mr Jepson meets a fitting end in some back-alley scrap.”

“Duly noted. Well, I don’t need to keep you two any longer than you’ve been here already. Let me walk you out.” Greg just smiled and added their reports to the file for the incident, apparently unfazed by the rather explicit doom spelt out and waiting for the idiot ringleader Jep. Collecting their coats for them, he saw them out to the street, as per regulation. John usually left on his own, but he didn’t mind Greg walking them down this time.

 

As promised, Seb was waiting with the Jag at the kerb and when Greg saw the car, he raised an eyebrow.

“Nice car, Mr Moriarty.”

“Thank you. It serves its purpose.”

“I’ll say! Well, you two boys have a good afternoon. No more trouble, alright?”

“No promises, Greg. This one’s almost as bad as Sherlock.” John just smiled. That got him a dirty look, and he blew Jim a kiss.

“Hey now, none of that.” Greg scolded, “I’ll have to write you pair of idiots up for public indecency.”

“Well, if you’re going to do that, Inspector, it had better be a worthy offence!” Jim just flashed Greg the kind of smile that spelt nothing but trouble.

“Oh, be nice to the man, Jim.” John folded his arms with a smile of his own. “He’s got it hard enough with Mycroft Holmes breathing down his neck, don’t you go making it worse.”

“I can think of better uses for that mouth of yours, Watson.”

“Oh, can you?”

“I absolutely can.” Jim’s smile turned wicked and the distance between them closed very quickly. “Shall I prove it to you?”

“You might have to.” John wasn’t sure why either of them was in this kind of mood, and he was sorry enough for Greg’s sake but not as sorry as he should have been. Jim, of course, made good on his threat. John, a startled but fully willing recipient and participant, didn’t mind at all. Huh. Jim Moriarty was good at more than planning out elaborate crimes, talking for hours about everything and nothing, and making John feel...wanted. He could kiss like a pro. It wasn’t something he did very often, which was a shame, and John would be more than happy to provide a bit of assistance if he wanted a few pointers and a refresher.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Over by the car, Seb was rolling his eyes. A soft whine echoed in the space between them and John pulled back. That wasn’t him, was it? Jim, when John got a good look at his face, was absolutely star struck.

“Who was proving a point here?”

“I thought you were.”

“Uh, no. No, I didn’t…um, that…” Jim squinted, “Any chance we can do that again?”

“Oh, sure! But not where hundreds of unsuspecting Londoners can see us.” He smiled, “I think we’ve scandalized Inspector Lestrade quite enough for the moment.”

“I am not as sorry as I should be.”

“Neither am I!” John chuckled and put an arm easily around Jim, who was completely smitten, guiding him to the Jag and into the car.

“Jesus Christ, Watson.” Seb shook his head. “Give an inch, take a mile, why don’t you!”

“Oh, come on, Seb! You know how it is.” John patted his former commander on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your boss.”

“That’s actually exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“You know I’m good for it. Don’t give me that.” John rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder at Greg. “See you later, Greg! Call if anything comes up!”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure. See you later, I guess.” Greg looked absolutely bemused, but not horrified. He was probably wondering what the hell had just happened but didn’t care enough to bring them to task for it. “I’ll keep Mycroft off your trail. He doesn’t need to know exactly who you’re with or where you’re going. I’m not your minder.”

“No, you’re Sherlock’s.” John smiled, “Thanks, Greg!”

“Good luck, boys! Mr Moriarty, you take good care with John Watson or no amount of sweet-talking or connections will keep you safe.”

“I won’t hurt him, Inspector. I give you my word.” Jim looked properly solemn. He wasn’t just saying that to make Greg happy, John suspected he was in no danger of coming to harm in Jim’s company. Which he couldn’t have said about the man a year ago. John followed Jim into the Jag and got comfortable. He had no idea where they were going next, didn’t really care.

“Clapham, Seb, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, sir.” Seb nodded and put the divider up as he got them underway.

“What’s in Clapham?”

“Somewhere safe and private.” Jim eyed him sideways, “Who the hell taught you how to kiss like that, Watson?”

“Without naming names, a close mutual acquaintance of ours.” He chuckled and leaned against the bench, “I got you good and proper, didn’t I?”

“Oh, don’t sound so bloody pleased with yourself! Insufferable git.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that.” John just smiled. “To be fair, you made a very good effort.”

“Hmph.” Jim sniffed and it was quiet. He wasn’t in trouble, it was just a normal quiet. When he reached for Jim’s hand, he wasn’t rebuffed, so Jim wasn’t really that upset with him.

* * *

* * *

 


	3. My Enemy, My Friend: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Jim. They have a surprisingly quiet, friendly encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin: Part 2. This is a two-part chapter.  
> **  
> Jim might seem very OOC, and I would apologize for that, but this is the way he came into my head for this story. This is how John sees Jim Moriarty, not just as a charming, creepy criminal mastermind but as a normal bloke who just wants one friend in the world.

* * *

* * *

John wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected when they reached their final destination, but the massive Victorian private home was definitely not on the list. The street was behind them, a gate separated the property from the road and made it very clear indeed that you’d better have bloody good business coming here. John was just visiting. He knew this place probably had security measures equal to or better than Buckingham Palace or any of the royal residences. At the very least it would have Mycroft’s place beat. It was quiet, he liked that.

“Come on, John.” Jim got his attention and took him inside after he was searched by security and a sniffer dog, who seemed far more interested in making friends with John than making sure he wasn’t a threat to Jim.

“You’re not supposed to be my friend, you know?” He smiled at the friendly creature, refraining from touching it at all. “You’re supposed to be a mean, scary guard-dog. I’m pretty sure if I dared to touch you, you’d just fall over on me and be completely useless. I don’t think your boss would like that much.”

“Oh, is that Ajax?” Jim looked over his shoulder from the top of the stairs leading to the main entrance of the house. “Oh, don’t mind him, John. He’s ex-military, so he probably knows his own kind.”

“How the bloody hell would he know me? I’m not in uniform and I guarantee I don’t smell familiar to him.” John looked down at the dog, who had decided to sit next to him, ears cocked. “I’ll be damned.”

“Come inside, John, there’s a bit more to see of the house.”

“Yeah, and only one part of it I’m really interested in.” He straightened his coat with a sniff and reached down to give Ajax a quick pet.

“Some guard dog you are, Ajax, letting strangers into your boss’s house all willing like.”

“Not all, just some, Captain.” Ajax’s handler said with a smile as John followed Jim into the house. A butler appeared to take his coat, John didn’t argue the point. He looked around a bit as Jim led the way, naming each room he saw to himself: Reception, and study. This was the “public” part of the house, where any clients or guests were shown and not any further than that. Then, upstairs, two bedroom suites. On the second floor, another three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small private roof-terrace. The lower ground floor consisted of the kitchen and primary dining a utility room, living room, and the garage. This led to an annexe which could be accessed through a door in the study by the fireplace.

 

It was clear this had been a family home at one point, there were domestic touches everywhere and a lived-in feeling John didn’t get much of from residences that were only used as safe-house. This house had been lived in by families for centuries. Or, maybe just one family? As he looked at a series of photographs and portraits hung on a wall, he saw a familiar face.

“Jim?”

“Hmm?”

“This isn’t you, is it?” He studied the man in the portrait, it was a tin-type from the 19th century so it was a little blurry, but John recognized the subject. Or he thought he did.

“Oh.” Jim peered over his shoulder. “No, that’s my ancestor and namesake. James Richard Moriarty I.”

“Christ, he looks just like you!” John shook his head in wonder.

“I didn’t bring you here to ogle my dead ancestor, John.” Jim chuckled and took his hand, “Come with me.”

“Lead on.” He smiled and let Jim lead the way. They ended up in the master bedroom suite, which had a private terrace and en-suite bathroom. The bed was a metal-frame canopy bed, with a Superking mattress. Scrolling openwork accents on the arched headboard and footboard offered a touch of class and character, while its tall frame made its own statement.

“That’s a proper bed.” John didn’t miss the curtains tied back on the posts, the coordinated bedding in neutral tones. The curtains were the statement, bold red. Oh, the things he could do in that bed, with and to Jim, who watched him take in the room and react to it.

“Will it do, Watson?”

“Oh, yes. It will more than do.” He smiled at the man he had willing if foolishly followed home.

“I should warn you that I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jim said quietly as John explored the room a bit, staying put by the bed.

“Hmm?” He turned to look at Jim carefully. “What do you mean?”

“This, I don’t … This isn’t what I do.” He made a broad gesture at the contents of the bedroom. “I have others way to get what I want from someone, and if I do sleep with them, I never … ”

“You don’t bring people here. The only rooms in this house people ever see are on the upper ground floor, your study and sitting rooms. You don’t let them into your home, they’re here on business.” John approached Jim carefully, “Do you want this?”

“Yes, I do. I absolutely do, but only … ”

“It takes someone special to get your attention.” John was just as good at reading people as Sherlock was, he just didn’t make as much of it. He made plenty of use of the skill, he just didn’t flaunt it the way his flat-mate did.

“Yes.”

“That’s why you went after Sherlock, he was interesting. In a world full of boring, predictable people leading boring, predictable lives, you found someone just like you.”

“We … both did. We both found Sherlock Holmes.” Jim looked at him, his eyes unusually sad. “But you’re not boring, or predictable. You proved that at Camden, and several times since then.”

“I’m not nearly as interesting as Sherlock.”

“Yes, you are, but you’re different. You’re just as smart as Sherlock, but you don’t brag about it.”

“I don’t have to. I don’t want people to know, it’s none of their business if I’m as smart as or smarter than Sherlock.”

“Are you?”

“Smarter? No. As smart? Possibly.” He shrugged and sat on the bed. It was a nice, comfortable mattress, just the right blend of firm and soft, it had just the right amount of give. “Does it really matter?”

“No. You’re interesting besides being intelligent. And you are, you’re very smart. But you’re street-smart, you’re … empathetic. You read people and situations like the rest of us read books.” Jim stood in front of him, studying him, “You know how to handle different people just by studying them, you can diffuse a situation with a few words or incite one the same way.”

“What about me got your attention?”

“I was trying to understand what it was about you that Sherlock liked enough to keep you around, and when I met you, you didn’t seem … ” Jim trailed off.

“The first time we met? Or the second time we met?”       

“The first time.”

“When we met that day at Saint Bart’s?” John raised an eyebrow, “I’m sorry, but you didn’t even look at me long enough to make eye contact, you were so focused on Sherlock.”

“I wasn’t distracted by Sherlock that day, he wasn’t the one who made me clumsy.” Jim shook his head. “I couldn’t look at you or I’d forget everything I had to do.”

“I distracted you?”

“Very, very thoroughly. And when I realized you were the one they’d taken from Baker Street, I almost called it off. I didn’t want you to get hurt, I didn’t care about Sherlock or those fucking plans.”

“I’m just the sidekick, I’m not important.”

“Yes, you are. You’re very important. And you’re not just the sidekick, don’t ever think of yourself that way, it’s demeaning.”

“It’s true though.” John shrugged, “People don’t see me at all, they see Sherlock, they see the loud, flashy presence.”

“Loud and flashy, that’s a good way to describe him.” Jim came closer, close enough to touch. “You don’t like being ignored.”

“No, but who does?”

“I certainly don’t.”

“Sherlock doesn’t ignore me, but he sometimes forgets about me.”

“I know. And the way he treated you in Dartmoor was … inexcusable.”

“I told you, he drugs my coffee.”

“That’s a terrible thing to do to a friend.”

“Well, we found out the hard way that it wasn’t the sugar that was drugged. Nothing like weaponizing and aerosolizing a dangerous hallucinogenic drug that caused the test-subjects to react violently to all stimulus.” John hated remembering that episode. “I thought I was losing my mind, I thought I was going to die.”

“And it turns out he was just sitting in the control room, watching you panic, having a laugh at your expense. I’m surprised you ever forgave him for that.”

“I haven’t quite forgiven him for using me as part of an experiment. He could have asked me first, I might have said no, but there is such a thing as consent.”

“John, I will never, ever use you to test a theory like that. That’s wrong.”

“I wish I believed you.”

“If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.” Jim moved aside to leave the way to the door open. “I enjoyed spending time with you, and I owe you lunch at the very least. You don’t have to stay with me, I can’t force you.”

“Do you want me to stay?” John wasn’t in a hurry to leave, it wasn’t like he had anywhere to be or anywhere to really go. Baker Street was empty, Sherlock was at Saint Bart’s with Molly. He had a sudden epiphany and blinked.

“What?”

“Uh. W-when did Molly Hooper break up with you?”

“Christmas, right before Christmas.”

“Oh my god.” He leaned back, falling back on the bed. He didn’t mean to, it just … happened. “I think I know who she dumped you for.”

“You think Hooper and Holmes are dating?”

“They must be, he always looks stupidly happy with himself after he’s spent time at Saint Bart’s. I don’t question the good moods because I’m not in the crossfire.” John stared at the canopy of the bed, “He says nice things when he’s happy, so I take what I can get.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“It’s not in my nature to make demands. It … never has been. I take what I get and make do. If it’s a bad hand, I try to work the odds in my favour.”

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“Do  you … um, do you want to … ” Jim trailed off, uncertain how to ask for the implied. John smiled and sat up.

“I’m game if you are.” He held out one hand to Jim. “I don’t want to leave.  I have nothing demanding my time or attention and since my flat-mate is busy with your ex-girlfriend, even if she wasn’t a serious relationship of yours, nothing to do until further notice.”

“Well, I don’t … know what I’m doing, this is … this is new for me.” Jim Moriarty shy and uncertain was probably the most adorable thing John had ever seen. He didn’t take very many partners of the same sex because he wasn’t quite out about his own sexuality, but he knew he was good with both genders.

“I know what I’m doing, can you trust someone else to take control for this?”

“N-not … I don’t like … ”

“We’ll start slow. Come here.” He stayed where he was, letting Jim set the pace. He wasn’t aiming for penetrative intercourse, but he’d take it if it was offered.

“Let me … ” Jim stepped back, one hand out, “Stay there.”

“I’m not moving, sweetheart.” John just smiled at the dark-haired Irishman who had taken over his day without John noticing or really caring. Jim rushed to the door and made sure it was locked, returning to the bed as he did something on his phone. After sending a couple of texts, probably to Seb, he tossed his phone aside. John straightened from untying his shoes and watched him approach.

“Was that Seb?”

“He’ll make sure we’re not bothered by anyone. The staff doesn’t come up here anyway, and any calls I get are going to be forwarded to his phone.”

“He takes care of you.” John smiled and kicked his shoes off. “I’m glad you have Seb Moran looking out for you, he’s a good man.”

“I know.” Jim toed off his shoes after undoing the laces. John slid off the bed to stand up so he could get started on the fun bit of the afternoon. He got his belt undone and zipped down his jeans, but didn’t take them off as he started on the buttons of his shirt.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“No, I’m doing it my way.” He glanced up, “I may be comfortable in my own skin, but I’m no exhibitionist. If you’re looking for that, you can have Sherlock.”

“I don’t want Sherlock. He’s too … flashy.”

“Moody. If he’s bored, he gets destructive.”

“So do I.”

“I hope you have better outlets for that than he does.”

“Seb takes me to a kickboxing studio.”

“That’ll do.” John smiled and finished unbuttoning his shirt. He wasn’t shy of his scar, and he was pretty sure Jim knew the whole story behind it, so he wasn’t bothered by the startled gasp.

“Oh my god.”

“You know the story, but you’ve never seen it yourself.” He looked up, “It’s just part of me now.”

“Oh, John!” Jim left off what he was doing and came to get a better look. His tee-shirt was in one hand as he reached out to touch. “Can I … ?”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, not unless the weather’s bad or I’ve strained it.”

“Oh, no wonder Seb was shocked when you walked out of the desert alive! This should have killed you!”

“I suffered a delirium in Afghanistan and in Germany. Most of the infection was surgically removed, but it left me … ”

“You are not lesser for this.”

“That’s not what my psyche tells me on the darkest days.”

“You are one of the bravest people I know, John Watson, you survived when anyone else likely would have perished.” Jim’s voice was soft, reverent as he took John’s hands in his, “Not only did you survive, you escaped. Somehow, you got yourself out of there.”

“Bravery, survival, and escape got me nothing but a few new medals and a pat on the back. I didn’t have a home to come back to, a safe place to recover. My therapist was … ”

“Civilian, and woefully untrained in dealing with returned veterans presenting your exact symptoms. It wasn’t PTSD, in the strictest sense, it was a different psychosis.”

“And I never had that properly diagnosed. I don’t even know what to call it.” John shrugged, “It hasn’t bothered me for a while, honestly, but … ”

“Sometimes you don’t feel right.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Can I try to distract you for a while? I’m not sure how to … I mean, I’d love to try, you … you’re amazing.” Jim studied John’s hands, “You should hate me and everything I stand for, but you don’t. You showed me kindness, you haven’t given me any reason to fear you or suspect you, and I just … I want to … What are you doing?” He asked softly as John smiled and freed one hand.

“With your permission, I’m going to kiss you.” He said as he reached out to touch Jim’s cheek, leaning in to kiss the flustered mastermind. Sometimes, a reset was needed.

“Oh. Well. Do you want to?”

“I’d love to.”

“Yes, please.” Jim leaned forward a bit. John memorized the feel of stubble under his fingertips, a sensation he had missed for so long before finding partners he was comfortable with. He loved this part of intimacy, the time spent just touching and learning. He knew how to kiss, how to touch, and it was always fun to learn how different partners responded, what things excited them and what they put on their “no-go” list. He was especially curious to learn Jim Moriarty’s body. It was always a safe bet to start with kissing, and he always asked permission unless the other party initiated, as Jim had earlier. John took it slow with his first proper kiss with Jim. If he had to guess, most of Jim’s previous encounters had been brief and aggressive. He wanted to show Jim how it could be good, how intimacy was a beautiful, gentle thing. He took a moment to pull back but didn’t let go of Jim.

“Why … why did you stop?” Jim whined once there was breathing-room between them.

“Have to breathe.” He smiled and rubbed noses with Jim. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Do it again.”

“Okay.” John studied the slightly-glazed expression on his partner’s face. “Although, I think this would be far more enjoyable on the bed.”

“Yeah. Yes, you’re … quite right. Bed.” Jim took him by the hand and pulled him towards the bed. They landed on the bed together and Jim restarted the kissing. John chuckled at the slightly-pushy nature of the kissing, but he wasn’t bothered or intimidated by it.

 

After a bit more kissing, Jim stopped and got off the bed. John watched as he shimmied out of his jeans, and made short work of his own jeans.  Once they were in nothing but pants, it was back to the fun bits. He smiled at the sight of Jim’s partially-nude body. He wasn’t quite as skinny as Sherlock, there was a bit more bulk to his frame, but he fit his frame. John ran his hands over what he could touch, allowed to touch. There were a few more scars and blemishes than he’d expected from someone like Jim, and he raised an eyebrow at the places he found some of them.

“Ah, you’re a man of action, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes, you have to do your own dirty work. And I didn’t get where I am today without fighting a few contenders along the way.”

“Hm.” He got used to the feel of the body under his fingers, the dips and planes and curves. “Is there anything you don’t want me to do? Anywhere you don’t want me to touch?”

“I’ll … tell you.”

“Stop is our safe word. Use it for whatever you have to. I won’t be insulted.” He ran his fingers along the curve of Jim’s waist, following the line of his hip to his arse. Jim had manoeuvred them so he was on top of John, which was fine with him, and that gave John far more access to Jim’s body, but he didn’t abuse that trust. He made his way to Jim’s shoulders, and down his chest again. Jim made a soft sound when John’s fingers brushed over his nipples.

“Oh, you gorgeous thing.” He murmured, “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

“I’m … ”

“If someone told you that you weren’t good enough for them, that’s on them, not on you.” He cut Jim off. “You’re not allowed to be hard on yourself while I’m in the room.”

“John.”

“Sweetheart, you’re beautiful, you’re amazing, and someone hurt you. I can’t fix everything, I can’t go back and make those bastards sorry, but I can make you feel worthy of yourself.”

“I don’t deserve you, John, you’re too good for me.”

“I’ll take care of you. Let me take care of you. Please.” He framed Jim’s face in his hands, “If that’s just for an afternoon or longer.”

“Christ, what did I do to deserve this kindness?”

“You let me buy you lunch, you talked to me. You treat me like a human being, like I matter.”

“Lucky me.” Jim sighed and pressed his lips to John’s. If all they did was lay in bed in their pants and kiss, John would go home quite happy. He didn’t require sex and would never demand it. It was nice, he enjoyed the closeness and intimacy, but it wasn’t a demand to fulfil his life. In all fairness to both of them, he was quite hard already and it wouldn’t take much to get to full hardness. But Jim was no better off, and every time their clothed erections touched, they would go quite still and soak in the sensation. After another bout of kissing, Jim nuzzled against John’s ear.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“Take me.”

“Do you want to?” He made eye-contact with Jim.

“Yes. Please.”

“I’d … love to.” He carefully rolled them so he was on top and leaned back on his knees. “I ask every single one of my partners the same question. Are you clean?”

“Clean as a whistle. The last person I slept with asked the same question and insisted on using protection.”

“Not a bad precaution.” John smiled.

“What about you?” Jim raised an eyebrow. John went for his jeans and found the paper in his back pocket. Once he had it, he gave it to Jim.

“Everything you want to know about me is on that piece of paper. That’s the condensed report.”

“Mine’s in the drawer there.” Jim sat up to take it and pointed at the side-table.

“Mine for yours.” John smiled and went looking. He found a similar piece of paper in the indicated drawer and they sat next to each other for a quick read. It was about what he’d expect for a brief sexual health report and Jim was, as promised, clean. Good, that gave them options. Kissing and snuggling were all well and good, but now they could go further. Setting the papers aside, John studied his partner.

“Now, where were we?” He raised an eyebrow as he took Jim’s hand.

“I believe we were discussing shagging.”

“Hm. That sounds like a good idea.” John smiled and ran his hand down Jim’s body until he touched smooth silk. “Shall we, then?”

“Yes.” Jim nodded affirmatively. It was a matter of seconds to discard their pants and in no time, they were skin-to-skin, nothing between them but air. It was beautiful. John wasn’t the only one who made an indecent noise when their naked bodies touched.

“Christ. Christ.”

“God, you feel amazing.” He ran one hand through Jim’s hair, kissing the side of his neck. “How do you want me, sweetheart?”

“I want you … inside. Inside me. Please, oh God, please.”

“If that’s what you really want.”

“Yes, yes it is!”

“Alright, sweetheart, take it easy. I’ll take good care of you.” He smiled against the heated skin and made his way down Jim’s body to give his cock some attention before getting down to business.

“C-condom!” Jim gasped, arching under his touch. 

“Already got one, love.” John waved a silver foil packet at him and grinned. “Do you mind if I do this the old fashioned way, though?”

“Y-you want to?”

“We’re both clean and I want to feel and taste you properly. I’m not obliged to swallow unless you want me to.” He ran his fingers along the inside of Jim’s thigh, just a connecting, grounding touch.

“D-don’t … swallow. But, um, n-no condom.” He looked down at John, his eyes nearly black with arousal. “Please.”

“Your wish is my command.” John spent the next several minutes familiarizing himself with the size, taste, texture, and feel of Jim’s very lovely cock, figuring out what worked and what didn’t, and then devoted serious focus and time to make him feel like king of the world. To spice things up and get started on the next bit of their fun, John added fingers to the mix, liberally slathered with lube. Just one to start, to get Jim used to the sensation. The care with prep was for a good reason. As long as it had been for him, it had likely been just as long or longer for Jim, and he wasn’t interested in hurting either himself or his partner out of ignorance. Jim responded beautifully to the handling, but he backed off when it got to be too much.

“Breathe, love.” He coached, rubbing Jim’s shoulder and chest until he was calm again. “Now, shall I continue?”

“Menace,” Jim muttered, covering his face with both hands.

“Until further notice, Mr Moriarty, I am _your_ menace.” John smiled and nuzzled Jim’s hands out of the way to kiss him before he went back to work pleasing his partner. It didn’t take very long before Jim was warning him, tugging on his hair.

“John! S-stop! Stop!” He whined. John dutifully pulled off with an obscene slurp, and not a moment too soon. The familiar flood had washed over his tongue in warning just as Jim warned him verbally that he was close, so his timing was spot-on. John pinched at the base of his own erection to stave off his climax, he wanted to save it for when he took Jim properly. As Jim recovered, John went to fetch a flannel from the en-suite to clean up with.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He asked as he used the damp cloth to clean up his wrung out lover. “How’s your head?”

“Fuzzy.”

“We have plenty of time to ourselves, no rush.” John tossed the soiled cloth aside and lay beside Jim. Every partner was different, some enjoyed post-coital cuddling, others preferred to be left to their own devices. He wasn’t sure where on the spectrum Jim fell, so he gave the man his space. After a while, not even a minute, Jim shivered and rolled over looking for contact.

“’s cold.” He muttered. John chuckled and put an arm around his lover.

“Do you want to cuddle?”

“Can we do that?”

“Absolutely.” John smiled and got them both under the covers with some adjusting. Once they were comfortably situated, Jim put his head on John’s shoulder. It was unexpected and intimate, but John did not mind. If this is what Jim wanted, this is what John would give him. For an afternoon or forever.

 

About ten minutes later, his erection had come back fully and Jim was ready. So, kicking aside the covers and pushing them out of the way, John kissed Jim on the forehead and hopped off the bed to get a few things.

“Where are you going?”

“Just getting a few things, dear. Be right back!” He promised, ducking into the en-suite. He retrieved the lube, which he had brought back with him earlier, and another cloth, just in case. Returning to the bed, John took in the sight of Jim Moriarty, naked and satisfied, and committed the moment to memory. It might never happen again. As he knelt on the bed, Jim stirred.

“Fall asleep on me?”

“No.” Brown eyes hazy with some emotion John couldn’t name right away opened and fixed on him. Jim smiled, that soft, sweet smile John was falling in love with. “Waiting for you to come back.”

“Here I am.” He leaned over and kissed Jim on the forehead. “Are you ready, my love?”

“Yes, I am.” Jim reached for him, asking. John slipped a pillow under Jim’s hips and took the time to prepare himself, rolling the condom on over his erection and applying a generous handful of lube. He applied a few fingers to Jim’s lovely arse, finding his prostate with a bit of searching, and smiled when the Irish boffin’s eyes rolled back with a sweet moan. There it was.

“That’s my boy.” He kissed Jim’s hip and moved up to kneel over his lover. Jim’s knees were bent out of reflex, and John admired the delightful fit, the familiar snugness of two bodies slotting together in particular ways.

“Breathe for me, love. Just relax, let me take care of you. Let me make it feel like heaven.” He soothed as he pushed forward. It was a matter of patience and taking it nice and slow as the first ring of muscle spasmed and relaxed to let him in. Oh, God, he’d missed this. Christ, he missed it. Greg was a good shag, but he felt bad asking the clever DI for something so intimate now that he and Mycroft were more or less dating; he was no home-wrecker, and it had been ages since he’d had someone under him like this.

“Oh, Christ,” Jim whined, shaking under John’s touch.

“Relax, my love.” He ran his fingers through Jim’s hair and leaned down to kiss him. Bit by bit, Jim’s body relaxed and John slid as deep as he could go in this position.

“You’re doing so well, my dear, so good for me.” He huffed, trying to stay still to let Jim get used to being like this.

“Jesus, you’re … ” Jim took a deep breath, “Christ, John. You’re amazing.”

“You’re amazing, too. This is amazing.” He lowered onto his elbows, tucking his head against the side of Jim’s neck. “Tell me when I can move, sweetheart.”

“Why … do you call me that?” Jim’s voice was soft in his ear, his shaky hands roaming wherever he could reach, just touching, not … demanding anything.

“Call you what?”

“Sweetheart.”

“Oh.” He smiled, “Well, you’re my sweetheart.”

“I am?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh.” Jim leaned his head back and shifted under John. The change of position drove John deeper, and Jim groaned.

“Oh, love, that’s … so good.” He kissed Jim’s chest and pulled back a bit. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m … fine. Move. You can move now.” Jim’s hand was on the back of his neck. “I’m not … ”

“You’re doing so amazing. Do you want to be on top?”

“N-no, this is … I’m okay.”

“Alright. I can switch if you want to.” He shifted again and found a rhythm that seemed to work. There was some adjusting, several pauses, but in no time, he was hanging onto his control by a thread. Sweat slicked their bodies, Jim’s erection had returned and his cock was stiff and leaking between them. Every breath was uneven, John couldn’t see straight, and he knew there would be abrasions and bruises later.

“John!” Jim shouted his name, hoarse and thrashing under him. “Please!”

“I’m coming, love. Hold on.” He braced himself and held on for the climax. When it came, the force of it startled both of them. Thank God for condoms! The slick, smooth muscles around his cock tightened and clenched and John groaned. His climax seemed to thunder out of him, and he gave a hoarse shout of his own. His arms gave out and he collapsed against Jim’s slick, hot body with a long, tortured sound.

 

It was several minutes before he could move, and he was very careful pulling out. Jim shook under him as he slipped free, one hand clenched around his spent cock, holding the condom in place. Very carefully, he removed the spent condom and tied it off. A wad of tissues was offered to him and he bundled the thing up carefully before tossing it aside. He didn’t know where it landed, couldn’t be arsed to care.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Jim murmured as John collapsed next to him, “What was that?”

“That, my dear, was mind-blowing sex.”

“Literally! My god!”

“I told you I’d make it good for you.” He chuckled and reached for the blankets, “Christ, I could sleep a whole week after that!”

“That was amazing.” Jim arranged the blankets around them both and pulled on John until he was resting on Jim, not just beside him.

“After we get sensation back in our extremities, I think a hot shower is in order.”

“I’ll do you one better than a hot shower, Doctor Watson.” Jim’s voice was soft and sleepy, which was quite common after sexual intercourse, “We’ll have a proper bath.”

“Fine. With. Me.” He honestly didn’t care if it was a bath or a shower, he just wanted hot water and a good soap-up. Whatever Jim wanted, John was game. “Later.”

“Much.” Jim smiled against his hair, nuzzling the sandy, damp strands. “That was … amazing.”

“You were amazing.” John snuggled into the warm body next to him, not caring for a minute that he was basically cuddling with a psychopath. But Jim wasn’t a psychopath any more than Sherlock was. He had a heart, it was just … jaded and broken, in need of some care and affection.

* * *

* * *

 


	4. Russian Roulette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has work to do, John isn't getting left out. Things get dicey, but no one important gets hurt. John shows his worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of John getting to be his BAMF self. And Greg questioning the inability of John and whoever he's with to stay out of trouble for more than a couple of hours.

* * *

* * *

An hour later, or perhaps longer, John roused from what had to be one of the most restful sleep-cycles he’d had in months. He knew he wasn’t alone in the bed, it was the first time in ages he’d woken up next to someone else. The bed was warm, the sheets were soft, and the mattress was the nicest thing he’d slept on in years. Stirring enough to get one eye open, he didn’t feel capable of doing much more than that just at the moment, he got a brief look around. He was greeted with folds of off-white and grey material, turning his head a bit on the pillow to find his bed-mate. Beside him, sound asleep and unaware of the world around him, or even his more wakeful partner, was Jim Moriarty. James Richard Moriarty. Criminal mastermind, Renaissance man, secret sweetheart.

 

John studied his sleeping bed-partner for a minute, marvelling at how young he looked right now. How many people got to see him like this? Never mind when he let his guard down while he was awake, what about while he slept? A man was most vulnerable while he slept, John knew this, and he knew also that someone like Jim would sleep lightly out of necessity. And yet, he seemed to be quite deep in his sleep cycle. John smiled and reached out carefully.

“Jim?” He called softly. He got a twitch, maybe a snuffle, but nothing beyond that. He shuffled closer and touched Jim’s cheek, revelling in the long-missed sensation of stubble under his fingertips.

“John?” Jim’s voice was soft, sleepy.

“Ah, there you are.” He smiled and pulled his hand back. “Boy, I wore you out proper, didn’t I?”

“You stayed.” It wasn’t a question, but John heard the question in the tone of voice.

“Yeah, I stayed. I wanted to stay. You wanted me to stay. I wasn’t in a hurry to get out of here, y’know?” He studied the man beside him, “I’m not sure where my phone is, but I get the feeling if someone had called looking for me, we would have been interrupted before now.”

“So … now what?”

“Well, I believe you said something about a bath when I suggested a bit of a wash-up once we got our faculties back in order.”

“You said a shower would do and I said no.”

“And I didn’t argue.” John smiled and leaned in, touching noses with Jim. “Thank you, Jim.”

“For what?”

“For … this. For this afternoon, all of the things we’ve done together and talked about.”

“If anyone should be grateful, it’s me, John. You … bought my lunch. You didn’t have to, you just … did. Out of the kindness of your heart, you bought lunch for someone who tried to kill you a year ago. And then you treated me like I mattered, like we were friends. You … defended me when we were hassled by some of my dim-witted lackeys who happened to not recognize me at all and take me for an easy target.”

“And I’ll do it over and over again without blinking.”

“And then you … ”

“I followed you home after we talked to Greg Lestrade, who promised to keep Mycroft Holmes off our trail for us so we could have an afternoon to ourselves.”

“Which was very kind of him, wasn’t it? He could have had me arrested for any number of offences, but he let me go. He warned me to behave myself, to … take care of you, but he let me go.” Jim sat up, mussing his hair with both hands. “All that trouble I caused them last year, he didn’t seem very … upset with me.”

“Probably because the trouble he found us in wasn’t our faults, yours or mine, and he won’t come after you without a damn good reason.” John slid from the bed and offered Jim one hand. “How about that bath?”

“Absolutely.” Jim smiled and took his hand, leading him to the en-suite. Jim ran the water for a bath, adding something to the water that created a delightful foam. When everything was ready, John slid into the hot water first and offered Jim a hand. The bath was heavenly, and the company was even better. There was lots of kissing and touching, John ran slick fingers over the curves and dips of a body he had already spent most of the afternoon memorizing. But he wasn’t interested in another round, there wasn’t time and he wasn’t even sure if either of them were capable of multiple climaxes so quickly after one round. Once the water had cooled beyond use and they were both clean, John decided it was time to get out.

“Out of the water with you. Come on, you.” John smiled and pulled the drain plug to let the water out of the tub. He got Jim out of the tub and pushed him into the shower stall for a quick rinse-down, then it was back out to the bedroom to dry off and get dressed again. When Jim hesitated over what to wear, John looked up from buttoning his own shirt.

“What’s the problem, sweetheart?”

“What do I wear?”

“Well, what were you planning on doing for the rest of the day? Do you have business to attend to, or do you have some time to yourself and no one to impress?”

“I … don’t know? I … I don’t know. I don’t think I have anything on, I didn’t when I told Seb to hold my calls for me.”

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” He repeated himself carefully.

“Yes?” Brown eyes narrowed, “What are you up to, Watson?”

“Don’t worry your sweet head, I’ve got this one.” He smiled and moved past Jim into the walk-in closet. “You go check with Seb about your afternoon schedule and I’ll figure out your wardrobe.”

“Okay?”

“Go on!” He made a shooing motion with one hand and started sorting through racks of clothes. One side was dedicated to those gorgeous Westwood suits, the other to more casual wear like the denims and V-neck he had worn that afternoon when they’d first met at the café. He heard Jim’s voice out in the main bedroom, Seb’s name was mentioned. After a minute, he heard Jim’s footsteps.

“Johnny Boy?”

“Yes, sir?” Jim seemed to call him “Johnny Boy” when he was in business mode.

“I have … business to take care of, it seems.”  Jim came in, and John could already see the different layers of armour slipping into place, the mask settling over familiar features that could smile and laugh as readily as they hardened.

“Then come here and let me put you back together properly. I took you apart, I’ll put you together again.” John took down one of the Westwoods and hung it on the provided hooks, going next for a dress-shirt, tie, and matching accessories. He gave Jim some alternate options for colour. “Who are you dealing with?”

“Rather unscrupulous characters I would rather see hanged and gutted, personally.”

“Hmm. All-black, then. With a touch of red for colour and a very clear signal sent that you mean business.” John made his selections and helped Jim get dressed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No. I don’t want you involved. It’s too … ”

“Risky?”

“Yes.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, sweetheart, I thrive on danger and violence.” He smoothed one hand down the front of the black dress-shirt once he had the buttons all done up properly, carefully looping a dark crimson silk tie around Jim’s neck after turning the collar up. He made short work of a Half-Windsor knot and folded the collar down over the tie once he was satisfied.

“Turn.” He ordered, taking the jacket off the hangar. Jim turned his back to John as ordered and he made sure the jacket fit properly, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders as he settled it into place, moving around to fasten up the buttons at the front and settle the lapels straight. From a small black velvet box, he took a tie-pin, which he attached very carefully to the tie itself.  The tie-pin was fashioned as a skull with two tiny red gemstone eyes, it seemed quite fitting for the occasion.

“There.” He mused quietly, fussing a bit with the shirt-cuffs. “You look properly like Jim Moriarty, criminal mastermind of London.” He paused when Jim took his hands.

“John.”

“Hmm?”

“Look at me? Please?” Jim’s voice was soft, almost gentle. It didn’t quite match the front he presented just at the moment. John lifted his eyes, but not his head. Jim wasn’t having that and put one hand under his chin, applying gentle pressure until he looked up properly.

“Jim?”

“Yes. I’m still your Jim, I just have to go play with some rather nasty characters right now.” Jim sighed, his mask slipping a bit. “I really don’t want to, I don’t want to … leave you. I want to be selfish.”

“Then let me come with you.” John was hardly thinking beyond any excuse to stay with Jim. “Let me … let me protect you, Jim.”

“I can’t let you get involved.”

“I was a bloody fucking soldier, Jim. I solve crimes, some of them yours, with Sherlock Holmes. Whatever this is, it can’t be any worse than anything I’ve already seen and been through. For Christ’s sake, I’ve been shot!” He squared his shoulders, “Is Seb going with you?”

“Yes, of course he is.”

“Then I’m coming, too, and just you try to stop me.” He leaned in and up a bit, Jim was just a bit taller than he was, and kissed Jim properly, one hand going almost automatically to the back of his Irish boffin’s neck, fingers sliding into his hair carefully. Breaking the kiss was probably one of the hardest things John had done all afternoon, but he knew it wouldn’t be the last of it’s kind. He would see to that.

 

Leaving Jim standing in the walk-in, a bit star struck, John let himself out of the bedroom. Making sure to close the door behind him, he headed down the stairs at a trot. He knew exactly where he wanted to go, so he went into the study and found the hidden door that let into the annexe, which doubled as one of the house’s two armouries and a control-centre. There was no one in the annexe at the moment, which was fine with John as he went to the built-ins that stored the gear and uniforms for Jim’s security-details. He found a uniform that would fit him and quickly changed out of his denims and button-down. He was adjusting the shirt-collar and the way the waistband sat on his hips when the outer door opened.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Going with you to make sure Jim Moriarty doesn’t get in over his head.” He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, “Give me a gun and my orders, Seb, it’s just like old times.”

“God, you’re a stubborn son of a bitch, aren’t you, Watson?”

“That’s news to you, sir?” He raised an eyebrow and picked up the SAB armour vest. He hesitated as he put it on and frowned.

“What now?”

“Is this vest standard?”

“With every single person on my security staff. Why?”

“I know you wear one, does Jim wear one?”

“Refuses. Says it’s too bulky, he doesn’t like the weight of it.”

“Reckless bastard. These are the lightweight vests we always wanted and never got because no one wanted to pay for them.” He shrugged into the vest and fastened it properly. When he turned from the mirror, Seb was waiting with a rifle and a pistol, complete with holster and spare ammo, which John added to his webbing belt. Specifically an L85A2 with SUSAT scope and a SIG-Sauer P229 DAK, both of which he had handled and fired in the past. It was clear to John that the weapons had been test-fired and sighted in properly long before they were ever put in his hands, but that didn’t keep him from looking through the scope of the rifle.

“You’ve always been thorough with your firearms, Watson.” Seb just watched him handle the weapons.

“And that’s not going to change, sir.” He holstered the P229 after chambering a round and ensuring the clip was full. Once he was ready, Seb handed over a duty-jacket. John grabbed an extra vest for Jim and held the door leading down to the garage.

“We’ll meet you out front, then.” He let Seb go out.

“Roger that, Captain.” Seb flashed him a smile and he went to find Jim, who waited by the front door for him with three other members of Seb’s regular security team. One of them was Ajax’s handler, and John wasn’t sure why having the K-9 along was so comforting, but it was. Jim looked suave and put-together, calm, but John knew better. He knew Jim was nervous about this meeting, but he still didn’t understand why he was so nervous. It really made him wonder if there was anything he could do to help. The butler let them out of the house and John went first down the steps to the waiting cars. He was pleased to see a heavily modified, customized Range Rover behind the Jag. Seb was waiting for them by the Jag.

“Mr Moriarty.” Seb had the back door of the Jag open in a flash for Jim to get in first. Only three of the security-team were coming along, but the rest of them were stationed in subtle but noticeable locations to keep an eye on things while they got underway. John, as a soldier, appreciated the thoroughness of the physical security measures in place around the house. Once Jim was safely in the Jag, Seb turned to John and the other three, who stood lined up near the rear of the Jag itself, standing at ease but ready to go at a minute’s notice.

“Alright, gentlemen. There has been a last-minute adjustment to the arrangement and we’ve added to our presence.” He looked at each of them, making brief eye-contact with John. “This is John Watson. Yes, he is that John Watson, no he is not here to field your questions or explain himself. He is here because Mr Moriarty wants him here and because I can’t think of anyone better fit for this kind of job.”

“Sir.”

“John, these louts are Geoffrey Connor, Andrew Douglas, and Dorian Meredith.”

“Gentlemen.” John offered the threesome a polite nod.       

“With intros out of the way, down to business. We’re dealing with the Duranichevs, so we have to be on our best game.”

“Yes, sir.” They all nodded their understanding. John thought the name was familiar, but he couldn’t think of why he knew it. Had he heard it somewhere in the news? From an old case he’d worked with Sherlock? 

“For the duration of this exercise, and potentially future exercises as well, Captain Watson will be my second and my lieutenant.” Seb looked right at John and gave a familiar signal he hadn’t seen in years and certainly hadn’t expected to see again in London. “My orders will come from him, his word is final law, grievances may be aired to him and passed back to me through him. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Good. Captain, this is your exercise now.”

“Yes, sir.” John nodded and took a few steps out to look at the other three. He had control of this? Well, at least the distribution of the security detail, he could handle that much.

“Alright, ladies, listen up. I’m only saying this once, do not ask me to repeat myself. This is how we’re distributing our numbers.” He looked at Douglas, who held Ajax’s lead, and nodded imperceptibly. “Douglas, you and Meredith are in the Rover. Flip for who gets the keys. Loser rides shotgun and doesn’t bitch about it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Here’s a coin, flip for heads and may the odds be in your favour.” He tossed them a pound coin as Seb tossed _him_ a set of keys. “Connor, you’re in the Jag. Back seat, you’re in charge of Mr Moriarty. His safety is your primary and sole concern until I say otherwise. You will not speak to him or make eye contact with him while you are in his company.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“You will be my eyes for everything behind us. Make sure the Rover is always the first and only thing you see immediately to our flank, call out if we lose our tail or pick up a bogey. Keep Mr Moriarty safe.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Alright. You have your orders. To your stations.” He looked at the other two and smiled, it wasn’t a very nice smile. “Meredith, Douglas, good luck, boys.” As he went around the Jag, he heard an outburst from behind them and Meredith cursing profusely. John chuckled and looked over his shoulder at the pair.

“What did I say, Meredith?”

“Sorry, Captain. I think Douglas cheated, though.”

“I don’t care if he cheated. He gets the keys. Maybe next time you can drive, if you win the next coin-toss.” He just tossed the keys to the Rover overhand to Douglas, who beamed as he went around to put Ajax in the boot. John thought he’d seen a cage back there, which didn’t really surprise him. Pulling open the door of the Jag, he leaned against the frame and ducked in to check on Jim.

“Hey. We’re getting ready to move out soon.  I have Connor riding our detail, he’ll be back here with you.”

“What about you, John?”

“I’ll be upfront with Seb. I’ve got some intel catch-up to play, don’t I?” He just smiled and studied the man sitting on the bench. “Y’know, it’s probably not obvious to anyone else, but I can tell you’re not looking forward to this. I’d even say you’re scared.”

“If you knew anything about the Duranichevs, you’d be afraid, too.” Jim looked up at him.

“Anything I can do to help?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No. I don’t think so. You’ve already done more than I wanted to ask you for coming on this rendezvous. If anything happens to you, I’ll be the most-wanted man in London.”

“Well, you kind of are already, this will just be for a different reason.” John dropped into a crouch and took Jim’s hand. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but it’s a bit misguided. Seb and I have worked together before, he gave me control of this exercise in fact. I know what I’m doing, Jim.  This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with shady mob types who don’t speak Queen’s English. Let us do the worrying, you just get your game-face on and do what you have to.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I never said it was easy. I just said you don’t have to worry so much.” He leaned up and snagged a quick kiss. “I’ll be right here, Jim, the whole time. I’ll be right at your side.”

“Lucky me.”

“I said I would protect you, and I will. We’ve gotta go, but I’m not letting you do this alone. This or anything else that needs doing.” He squeezed Jim’s hand and got up, looking over the roof of the Jag at Connor. “Remember what I told you, Connor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He nodded and closed the door carefully before going around and getting in on the other side. As they got underway, Seb handed over a tablet with all of the information they had on the group they were meeting up with and John paid special attention to the photographs.

“Do any of those people look familiar?”

“Yeah. I recognize three of them.” He cocked his head a bit. “Hey, Seb?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I made a couple of phone-calls? I know a few people who would love to get their hands on the Duranichevs good and proper.”

“Lestrade?”

“For one. I know Mycroft Holmes has been after this lot for about a year now, and Greg’s been wanting to get hands on them for six months. I can make one phone call and get the Duranichevs into a whole lot of trouble they won’t be getting out of again so easily.”

“What  are you thinking?”

“They’re expecting _us_ , right?”

“Yes.”

“But they won’t be expecting us to have any sorts of connections that matter with The Met or even Military Intelligence.”

“You mean, they won’t be expecting _you_ to be part of the equation.” Seb looked over at him, eyes narrow. “What is going on in your head, Watson? I know that look, haven’t seen it in a while, though.”

“D’you mind if I call Greg?”

“Not particularly.”

“Great. Hang on just a mo.” John retrieved his phone from one of the duty-jacket’s pockets and pulled off one glove with his teeth, scrolled through his call-logs until he found Greg’s number. He pressed the call button. It didn’t take long for the call to ring through and he just drummed his fingers against the glass waiting for Greg to pick up. He’d dialled Greg’s desk-phone, so it was a 50/50 shot if he’d actually answer or not. Then, before it went to voicemail, he heard the click. And a familiar salutation.

_“Met Homicide, this is Lestrade.”_

_“Hey, Greg, it’s John Watson.” He smirked, “Did I catch you at a bad time?”_

_“Oh, Jesus. John! Um, n-no.  Actually, no, you didn’t.” He heard a bit of a commotion in the background and the sound of a door closing. “Hey, mate, where the fuck are you? I don’t need to_ come _get you somewhere, do I?”_

 _“No, Greg, I’m fine.”_ He looked over his shoulder at the tinted barrier separating him from Jim and Connor. _“Hey, listen, you remember Yuri and Gregor Silvanovich?”_

_“Yeah? Brothers, aren’t they? Members of the Duranichev crime-family. I’ve been trying to get my hands on them for six months. Why?”_

_“Well, what if I all but promised you the Silvanovich brothers, practically gift-wrapped?”_

_“How?”_

_“And about ninety per cent of the Duranichev gang as a nice bonus?” He grinned, he couldn’t help it._

_“Um. Hang on a second, John. How the hell can you even promise me a chance to get my hands on these blokes?”_

_“Because yours most truly is on his way to a meet-up my partner really isn’t looking forward to. I’ve got some ideas about why he’d rather not have to face the Duranichevs and I can’t say I blame him for a minute.”_ John studied his fingernails idly, almost bored. _“But if you and your team want a bit of excitement and you know a couple of blokes down in 19 who are just bored off their arses, I can at least promise to liven your day up just a bit more.”_ There was a brief pause and he clearly heard Greg talking to someone else. John’s hearing wasn’t quite as good as it had been in his younger days, but it was still better than people gave him credit for and he could make out tonal differences and inflexions just from a phone-call or recording. He recognized at least one of the voices and narrowed his eyes.

_“Hey, John?”_

_“Yeah, Greg?”_

_“Um, you … don’t mind if Intelligence gets their hands dirty, do you? They’ve been after the Duranichevs longer than I’ve been after the Silvanovich brothers.”_

_“Are you with Mycroft right now? I thought I heard his voice.”_

_“Yeah. He came here for something else and then you called.”_

_“Let me guess, Sherlock?”_

_“Yeah. Not that he’s in any trouble this time.”_

_“Of course he’s not. Just your monthly meeting?”_ John knew Greg and Mycroft met at least once a month to discuss Sherlock and his work with The Met.

_“More or less. Um. Hang on a second.”_

_“Doctor Watson?”_ And there was Mycroft. John looked at Seb, who kept his eyes on the road, but his focus split. _“Are you alright? Are you in trouble?”_

 _“Hello, Mr Holmes.”_ He put his own phone on speaker, just like Greg had done with his. _“No, I’m fine. I haven’t been in any danger from the people I’m currently in company with at all since I encountered Mr Moriarty earlier this afternoon.”_

_“Where are you now?”_

_“Mr Holmes, Colonel Moran here.”_ Seb turned his head a bit. _“Captain Watson and Mr Moriarty are with me. Captain Watson is one of a four-man security detail for me today.”_

_“Ah. Hello, Sebastian.”_

_“Mycroft.”_ John raised an eyebrow at the familiar, first-name address between Seb and Mycroft.  _“Don’t worry about your man, sir, it’s not the first time we’ve taken an exercise together. He’s not one of my best for nothing.”_

_“I suppose you would be far more familiar with Captain Watson’s exact records than I, Sebastian. Do try to keep him out of trouble, will you? And Mr Moriarty, while you’re at it?”_

_“It’s my job, sir. If you would care for a bit of excitement, gentlemen, you are far more than welcome to join us. We’re meeting with the Silvanovich brothers and the Duranichevs at Pushkin House, I assume you know the venue?”_

_“Yes, rather well. I’ve attended a few Embassy events there.”_

_“Then I hope you’re on good standing with their Ambassador.”_

_“I would not say we are bedfellows, but … yes.”_

_“Good. Then we’ll meet you there. Mobilize your people now, Mr Holmes.”_

_“We will be in touch, Colonel. My thanks for taking Captain Watson under your wing this afternoon.”_  

 _“My pleasure, sir._ _”_  Seb looked at John as he hung up on the call with Greg and Mycroft.

“So much for keeping Mycroft off our trail.”

“That’s not a coincidence, but he has bigger fish to fry than the likes of us.” John got a text from Greg with word that strike-teams from MI-6 and The Met would be able to deploy and make contact at the venue within twenty minutes, maybe fifteen if they pushed it. John sent back a reply after showing it to Seb, who just nodded.

 

**Make it fifteen and I’ll buy the first round next Pub Night. – J**

**How about you bring your new boyfriend to Pub Night and we’ll call it square? – GL**

**I really kind of think you two are a damn cute couple. I couldn’t say it earlier, but you’ve got my vote of confidence. – GL**

**We’ll make it a family affair. – J**

**I get the feeling there’s a bit of history between Mycroft and Seb and I am dying to know more about that. When would they have known each other? – J**

**You and me both, mate! That was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you! – GL**

John smiled and pocketed his phone. With any luck at all, this wouldn’t backfire on them and get people killed.

 

Seb took them a bit of the long way to Pushkin House, giving time for the other teams involved to mobilize and reach the location, and when he saw the unmarked vehicles making their approach, he just smiled.

“Hey, Cap, I think we have a problem!” Douglas called as he attached Ajax’s lead and harness. John looked over his shoulder and caught sight of Mycroft standing on the kerb, surprisingly inconspicuous among the crowds of unsuspecting pedestrians just going about their business. For once.

“Don’t worry about him, Douglas.” John shook his head, “Go on.”

“Here, you keep Ajax, Captain. Don’t make yourself a target, sir.”

“The people you should worry about are inside this building, Douglas. I’ll be right behind you.” He waited for Douglas to go inside and tightened his grip on Ajax’s lead as Connor passed him by. Jim spotted Mycroft and John saw the mask slip. He gave Jim a push and saluted to Mycroft to let him know he’d seen them before he went into the building next. As they went upstairs to meet with the Duranichevs, Jim took his hand.

“John, was that Mycroft Holmes?”

“Yep. And Greg was with him.” He looked at his skittish Irish boffin and smiled, “They’re on our side, Jim. Today, you are not their enemy.”

“Can we trust them?”

“They want the Duranichevs enough to take no prisoners. It’s not like either of them owes me any big favours, but they didn’t seem to mind me making the offer.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Well, I know Greg’s been after the Silvanovichs for at least six months, I basically said I could offer him the brothers all but fucking gift-wrapped and the rest of the gang as a bonus. That got Mycroft’s attention and the rest sort of just fell into place.”

“But…why? Why did you do this without telling me?”

“Because your safety is the most important thing to me right now, and until these people have been eliminated or neutralized, you are not safe.”

“Christ, does Sherlock realize just how bloody _loyal_ you are? What you’re willing to do?”

“Probably not. But don’t think for one second I wouldn’t do the exact same thing to anyone who posed a threat to Sherlock Holmes.” That was a warning.

“Aw, I knew you loved me!” Jim smiled, a bit of his old sass showing through the grim determination and fear.

“I love you enough to put a bullet through your skull if you think it’s a good idea to mess with Sherlock and get him hurt.”

“And that is true devotion.” Jim looked at him, his eyes nearly black. “That’s your job, then. If I ever derail like that, you pull the trigger. Don’t hesitate. If Sherlock is threatened, you’ll be in danger. And I would rather die than hurt you.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t miss,” John said softly. Jim pulled him back as they reached the doors and kissed him, he just sighed.

 

Entering the room, John kept his post at Jim’s left, Seb was to his right, and the rest of them scattered. It wasn’t hard to see why Jim hadn’t been looking forward to this meeting, the Russians were rude and demanding and threatened Jim’s personal safety on several occasions. John kept his cool, remaining calm when all he wanted to do was take out every single one of the bastards. Then, it escalated. He’d kind of known it would, and as soon as it did, he shoved Jim behind him and fired on the goons who tried to get at him.

“Jim! Run!” He shouted, “Run!” He barely had time to look over his shoulder before he was going hand-to-hand with one goon the size of a fucking bear. But John was quick on his feet and not a bad hand in a fight, even if he was sorely outmatched this time.  Suddenly, he heard Jim give a shout.

“John! Help!” Those two words, spoken in fear, shot through him and he spun on his heel. Jim was in trouble, he hadn’t been paying enough attention and now he was in trouble! But it was worse than that. Connor was the one who had him, had a gun to his head, and John swore the scum wouldn’t get out of the room alive.

“Don’t move! Don’t fucking move, or I blow his brains out!” Connor yelled as everything just kind of came to a screeching halt. John looked around the room and did a head-count. No one on their end had been hurt badly, but the Russians had lost a couple. They were still outnumbered, and now one of their own had turned on them. John looked at Seb, who was taking his lead now, and carefully laid his weapons down.

“Lay down your weapons!” He ordered, “Stand down! We can’t win this one.”

“On your knees, British scum.” He was shoved roughly to his knees, he kept his hands up behind his head, kept eye-contact with Jim. It wasn’t any fun being held hostage, but he would never, _ever_ wish that experience on Jim, not ever. It was sickening, and he had an idea of how Sherlock must have felt that night in Camden a year ago. And again last September, when they first encountered Irene Adler and ran afoul of a few enterprising American agents.

“I don’t know what you want from us, but I don’t think killing any of us is going to make much of a difference.”

“You, shut up!” Connor snarled, “Or I shoot you first instead!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Connor.” He felt the nudge against the back of his head. “What did I ever do to you? You had nothing to do with me until today.”

“Well, see, I had only thought to hand over Moriarty, maybe Moran if they kept him alive, but then you walked in and I had a bonus! Who wouldn’t want the great John Watson?” Connor grinned fiendishly. “Not that you’re really all that much to look at, and you just follow Sherlock Holmes around like a fucking dog looking for scraps. But you make a nice bargaining chip.”

“You weren’t expecting me to come along, then.” John kept a straight face. “Well, I hate to burst your bubble and crash the party, lads, but…I didn’t come alone.” As if they had been waiting for that cue, and it wouldn’t surprise him one bit if they had, the doors burst open and the teams from The Met and MI-6 poured into the room. John took care of the thug holding a gun to the back of his head, made sure the man would never see another day, and lunged to his feet. Connor escaped in the chaos, but John was hot on their heels.

“Connor!”

“John!” Jim yelled, still trying to fight his way free.

“Jim! Hang on!” He tracked them to the street. “Connor!” He’d lost sight of them, but the squeal of tyres got his attention and he saw a red car pulling away. He ran out into the street and took aim. He shot out the back tyres and the back window, watched as the sedan veered across traffic and crashed into the fence around Bloomsbury Square Garden.

“Shit.” He broke into a sprint, dodging traffic and startled pedestrians. “Out of the way! Make way! Move!” He finally reached the sedan and yanked the driver’s door open, dragging the driver out and dumping him on the pavement. He didn’t care if the goon lived or died at this point. Leaning around the seat, he looked into the back of the car.

“Jim?” He could _see_ Jim, but he wasn’t sure if he was unharmed. Connor wasn’t moving, John suspected he was dead. Cursing under his breath in Farsi, John ripped the back door open and carefully reached for Jim. “Jim, are you alright?”

“John?”

“Oh, thank God. Thank Christ. Come on, give me your hand.” He grabbed Jim’s hand, “I’ve got you, sweetheart, come on. I’ve got you.” It was a work of patience to get Jim out of the car and he sat him down against an undamaged bit of fence, kneeling before him. “Christ. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Is Connor dead?”

“I think he might be, but if he’s not, I know a few people who would love to get some answers out of him.” John touched the side of Jim’s face. He was mostly unharmed, just terribly shaken up by the whole mess.

“You…came after me. You…”

“Did exactly what I said I’d do. I kept you safe.” He studied a scrape on Jim’s cheek, it looked like a graze-wound from a bullet, “I’m just sorry I wasn’t paying attention and let him get you out of that house.”

“Well, if the Duranichevs thought they’d get a few easy prizes, they were terribly mistaken.”

“If there’s any of them still out there, they won’t be able to hide out for long.” John looked over his shoulder as a shadow fell over them. “Hey, Greg.”

“You two alright?”

“More or less. You should see the other guys.”

“You know, this is the _second_ time I’ve had to come save your sorry arses in one day?”

“Sorry about that.” John looked at the wrecked car, the curious bystanders being herded behind police barriers by on-site Met personnel, the fleet of vehicles that had suddenly filled the street with blue-and-white lights. He spotted an ambulance, one of several, and turned to Jim.

“What?”

“There’s an ambulance. Let’s get you checked out.” He got up and held out both hands, “And don’t you fucking dare tell me you’re fine.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” Jim took his hands and Greg helped him get Jim on his feet. Getting Jim to the ambulance, he stood by while his…what _was_ Jim? They weren’t boyfriends, were they? Not really friends, either, more than that. Lovers?

“Well, Captain Watson, I must admit that was an unexpected bit of excitement to my evening.” Mycroft’s voice only startled him a bit and John would never admit to flinching.

“Jesus. Don’t _do_ that, Mycroft, you’ll give me a fucking heart attack sneaking up on me like that!” He sighed and looked at Sherlock’s nosy older brother. “Just this once, I’m very grateful for your bad habit of spying on us. On me in particular.”

“You disappeared from my cameras rather early this afternoon and I was quite curious. I suspected you weren’t in too much trouble, but I figured it couldn’t hurt anyone to see if Greg had any leads on your whereabouts.”

“And he told you…what exactly?”

“He had you in his office, and you were more or less fine.”

“You could see us, you knew exactly where I was and who I was with. You didn’t do anything about it.”

“It was obvious from what little I could make of it that you were in absolutely no danger with Mr Moriarty.” He would be damned if Mycroft didn’t blush. “Not to mention, I may have gone to a rather different resource to get intel on your exact status.”

“You talked to Seb, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’d love to know where that connect is, because I had no idea the two of you were even on speaking terms. Never mind being on first-name basis with each other!”

“Yes, there is that.” Mycroft looked over his shoulder at Seb, who lingered nearby. “Sebastian Moran was one of us, once, and very, very good at what he did.”

“And I knew him in the Army. He didn’t say why he was leaving, just…that he was. He must have gone to MI-6.”

“And he stayed with us for quite a long time. He was with us before you knew him and he returned to us following your discharge.”

“Well, damn.” John shook his head.

“How did this start, John?”

“I bought him lunch. The rest of it just kind of…happened.” He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think he’s going to be a problem anymore. Not…like he was last year.”

“I assume you would prefer any further associations to end with his continued wellbeing intact?”

“I’d like him alive, please and thank you.”

“My brother may not like this development.”

“It’s really none of his business, is it? Besides, most of the work we get is because of Jim, so, he can’t complain.” John shook his head, “Oh, and you can tell _your_ boyfriend that any questions he has for us can damn well wait. I’m taking Jim home as soon as he’s been cleared by the medics.”

“Where will you take him?”

“No idea. Somewhere safe.”

“Would you take him back to Baker Street?” Mycroft asked carefully.

“Probably not. I’m not _that_ interested in alienating your brother.” John sighed and felt that familiar lightheadedness that came with an adrenaline crash. “Although to be completely honest, it might be more a point of intrigue for him than anger. It’s Jim’s mind, his intellect and cunning, that Sherlock’s attracted to, not necessarily the violence he’s capable of.”

“And yet, he would not complain for the sake of a few well-planned crimes to keep _him_ engaged, would he?”

“Probably not. The poncy git.” John rolled his eyes. “God forbid he ever turn down a chance to show off.” Mycroft made a noise that turned out to be a very poor effort not to laugh.

“What?”

“Captain!”

“Well, am I _wrong_?”

“No!” Mycroft coughed, “No, you are not wrong at all. Very well.  If you have need of my … resources, feel free to reach out to me. For anything.”

“No problem. But I get the feeling you’ll be the one getting in touch with us, not the other way around.” John just smiled and looked over as the medics helped Jim get his feet on the ground. “Excuse me.”

“Good night, Captain.”

“Good night, Mycroft.” John took Jim’s hand and helped him down onto the pavement.

“Can I take him home?”

“Yes, sir. He’s fine, no permanent damage.”

“Thanks, lads.” John smiled at the paramedics and put an arm around Jim’s shoulders, leading him away from the ambulance and towards the Jag. The Rover was right behind as it had been at the house, Meredith and Douglas stood by the back of the Jag, Douglas with Ajax’s lead in hand. Ajax had been unharmed by the Russians during the stand-off earlier and sat by Douglas, ears erect, body-language alert. When he saw John and Jim coming, he whined and got up, tail wagging.

“Good boy, Ajax. You’re alright.” John smiled and gave Ajax a bit of a fuss.

“He’s a bit shaken up by things, but he’s alright, Captain,” Douglas said quietly. “He tried to take down Connor.”

“That was risky. Good dog, isn’t he?” John ruffled Ajax’s ears. “He knows his business.”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, let’s get out of here.” He looked around and decided enough time had been wasted here. Seb held the door of the Jag for them, eyes on the surround, casing the gathered personnel and civilians. It wasn’t until Jim was safely inside the car that he dared to speak up.

“John?”

“We need somewhere safe to go. Secure. And I think a staffing shake-up is in order.”

“Absolutely. I don’t know how Connor went so long under the radar, but that will not happen again.” Seb shook his head. “You stay with him, Captain.”

“I wasn’t about to do otherwise.” John squeezed Seb’s bicep and took a minute to safe and store his weapons in the boot before he got into the Jag next to Jim. He still had his P229 on him, just in case. The drive from Bloomsbury to their “secure location” was quiet and tense, John spent most of it holding Jim’s hand, just quietly reassuring the other man that he was still there, they were together and safe for now.

 

When the car stopped again, John looked at his watch out of curiosity. Travel-time hadn’t exceeded fifteen minutes, despite traffic, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Where are we?” He looked out the window. Seb was quick to get the door for them and John got out first, immediately going to the boot to retrieve his rifle. As he did so, he looked to see where they were.

“Oh. Here?” He looked at Seb, kind of confused. “Why here?”

“Because who is going to be looking for Jim Moriarty at 221B Baker Street? Why would he have any reason to be here?”

“Sherlock’s going to _love_ this.” John sighed and looked up at the first-floor windows. The light was on and he thought he could see his flat-mate standing by the window.

“Looks like he’s home.”

“Let’s get you two off the streets, Captain.” Seb put a hand on his shoulder and he handed over his keys as he gave Jim a hand out of the car.

“Baker Street?”

“Yep. I have some explaining to do, I think.” John looked up at the windows again. “Christ I hope can behave himself.”

“Not me?”

“Jim, you nearly got yourself killed tonight, I _know_ you’ll behave yourself.” John didn’t waste a minute putting one arm around Jim’s shoulders, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek, careful of his injuries. Jim turned his head for a proper kiss and John chuckled under his breath.

“Brat.”

“You don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind, but Sherlock might.”

“Are you three going to come in or just stand there all night like idiots.” John turned at the sound of Sherlock’s voice, instinctively shielding Jim. And who could blame him after what had happened in Bloomsbury just a while ago? He hadn’t heard the door open, so he was a bit startled to hear Sherlock’s voice like that. Sherlock and Mycroft both knew that John hated nothing more than being surprised by someone coming up behind him or addressing him without alerting him first. Greg knew it, too, and tried to make sure he didn’t take John by surprise often if at all.

“Come on, lads.” Seb carefully steered them into the house and made sure they got up the stairs to B. Once he was sure John had things in hand, he bowed out and left again.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning, Captain,” Seb promised as they stood by the Jag, having handed John a go-bag kept in the boot for just this sort of situation. Inside was a change of clothes for Jim and everything else he might need while away from any of the regular residences.

“Thank you, Seb. Let me know when you start the restructure, I’ll be happy to help out.” John put the bag over one shoulder and offered one hand to Seb, who shook his head and gave John a hug instead.

“Just look after him for me tonight, will you? Please?”

“Absolutely. I won’t let him out of my sight without a good fucking reason to do so.” John promised. He would have to be dead for anything remotely like the Bloomsbury incident to be repeated.

“Here, Captain. Keep Ajax tonight, he’ll keep the house safe while you sleep.” Douglas gave him the lead attached to Ajax’s harness for what seemed like the nth time just tonight. John smiled.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I know what this means to the security of the Clapham house.” And likely the rest of Jim’s London residences.

“Nah. We’re only one of a dozen teams employed by Colonel Moran for Mr Moriarty’s security staff, it’s not going to hurt anyone if either of us takes a night off.”

“Which you’ll have earned the hard way tonight.” John smiled and offered Douglas one hand. “Good night, Lieutenant.”

“Good night, Captain. Good luck.”

“You, too.” He watched until the cars were out of sight before he went back inside, making doubly sure to lock up the house once he was in.

“What’s all the commotion about, John?” Mrs Hudson poked her head out of 221A, eyes widening when she saw exactly what he was wearing. “Oh my goodness, where have _you_ been?”

“I’m not certain you would believe me if I told you, Mrs Hudson.” John looked from his landlady to Ajax, who just sat by him waiting for something to happen, waiting for an order. “By the way, we’ll be having company on Baker Street for at least tonight.”

“Well, I figured as much! Who’s that handsome gent?”

“This is Ajax. He’s a … private security dog.”

“I don’t mind if he’s well-behaved.”

“He won’t bark unless it’s serious, Mrs Hudson.”

“Who’s upstairs with Sherlock? He shouted at me to get the door and I told him to answer his own door for once.”

“Someone I’d really rather not leave him alone with just at the moment.” He sighed and tightened his grip on the lead, “I’ll explain everything as soon as it’s safe, Mrs Hudson.”

“Oh. Are _we_ in danger, then?”

“I doubt it. Good night, Mrs Hudson.” He went up the stairs to B and closed the door behind him. The flat was eerily quiet and he found Sherlock perched in his chair like a sullen vulture while Jim stood uneasily near John’s chair.

“Well, I’m sure there’s some reason he’s in my house, but there’s not any _good_ reason for him to be here,” Sherlock said in that tone of voice John hated so very much. “What is he doing here?”

“We’re not here because we _want_ to be Sherlock, so you can just shut up.” He snapped, letting Ajax off the lead and hanging the lead and his duty-jacket on the hook where he usually kept his coat. That had been left behind at the Clapham house. If he knew Seb at all, everything he and Jim had left behind would be collected and moved to another more secure location somewhere inside of London or perhaps just outside of it. His gloves and cap went into the pockets and he set the rifle case on the floor by the couch. He would take care of his weapons before he put the rifle away.

“I was just curious.” Sherlock sulked.

“No, you _weren’t_. The only reason either of us is on Baker Street tonight is that this is the absolute last fucking place in London anyone who wanted Jim Moriarty dead would ever think to look for him!” John glared at his flat-mate. “If you don’t know where I’ve been all afternoon, that is not my fault and I do not ask your forgiveness! What I do ask for is that you behave yourself for once and accept that this is only a temporary arrangement!”

“What’s temporary? He’s not moving in, is he?”

“No! With any luck, he’ll be staying somewhere else tomorrow night! But if you don’t shape up, _I_ will be moving out!” John picked up the rifle and its case and looked at Jim. “Come on, we can go upstairs.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go.” He held the door for Jim and waited for him to go upstairs.

“That’s not your dog, is it?”

“No, his name is Ajax. I have him on loan tonight.” John looked at Ajax. “Come on, Ajax, let’s go.”

“Where are you going?”

“Upstairs, and so help me I will poison your coffee if you interrupt us out of spite.” He snarled, “Good _night_ , Sherlock.” Closing the door with a bit more force than strictly necessary, John stormed upstairs and found Jim waiting in his bedroom.

“Thank you, John.”

“For what?” He frowned as he locked his door and set his things down on the desk by the window.

“Standing up for me. Defending me like that.”

“Someone has to do it, and I don’t see why I’m incapable.” He turned from the desk after making sure the street outside was clear. It was, he didn’t see anything questionable. He had Ajax lay down by the door and started breaking down his weapons after retrieving his cleaning-kit from the footlocker underneath his bed.

“There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall, you can clean up in there if you want to. It’s got a shower.” He looked over his shoulder. “Sherlock won’t come up here and bother us, I don’t think.”

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping my weapons in prime condition.” He just smiled, “This is kind of routine for me.”

“I … don’t suppose you’d like to _join_ me, would you?” Jim hesitated at the door, looking at him wistfully.

“Oh, don’t need to ask me twice.” John was more than happy to leave things for a bit.

 

The shower was quiet and thorough, John took extra care washing Jim’s face. Once they had washed away all traces of the encounter with the Russians, it was right back to John’s bedroom. He changed into pyjama bottoms and an old regimental tee-shirt while Jim unpacked the go-bag. A pair of blue silk pyjamas was stashed for overnight, and one each of a Westwood and casual attire was hung up in John’s closet, which he did not mind at all. Nightly routines were briskly undertaken and once they had both been through, John locked his door again and settled to clean his weapons. Jim lay on his bed, eyes closed, humming to himself. Ajax had settled by John’s feet, eyes fixed on the door.

“What is it?” John asked after a while.

“Hmm?”

“The name of the song you’re humming. What is it called?” He looked over his shoulder.

“Oh.” Jim blushed. “It’s called “Bonny at ‘Morn”. It’s an old song.”

“It sounds lovely.” John smiled and went back to what he was doing. He was efficient with his work and was finished in no time. After reassembling the rifle and handgun, he put them away. The rifle went back into its case and the handgun into the side-table by the bed. John slept that night with his back to Jim, nearby if he was needed but not touching. It was quiet, excepting for once when Jim woke up from a nightmare, but John was there to reassure him that it was alright. After that brief disturbance, they went back to sleep and John kept one arm around Jim for the rest of the night.

* * *

* * *

 


	5. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after. Not quite back to normal, but at least no one is shooting at them this time. John goes to work and gets a few...interesting patients. It gets a bit personal.

* * *

* * *

As promised, Seb was back first thing in the morning to pick Jim up. Sherlock was still asleep, either that or he was sulking, so there was no problem getting Jim out of Baker Street. Once the Jag was at the end of the street, John went back inside, typing one-handed on his phone as he locked the door.

 

**Let me know when you’re safe, and where you’re staying. – JW**

**I will. Good luck with Sherlock. – xx Jim**

He smiled as he pocketed his phone and headed back upstairs. He looked in on the sitting room to see if Sherlock was around or not. Not only was he around, but he also had company. John was a little surprised to see Mycroft, even after last night, and carefully closed the sitting room door.

“Good morning, Mycroft.”

“Good morning, Captain.” Sherlock’s typically overbearing older brother smiled at him, “Did you sleep well last night?”

“Well enough, thank you.” He headed for the kitchen, “Since your brother’s manners are atrocious, would you care for a cuppa?”

“Yes please, Captain.”

“Take a seat if you’d like, Mycroft!” He called back as he set the kettle on. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to come storming into the kitchen.

“You are _not_ allowed to be nice to my brother!” He hissed.

“Your brother is the only reason I came home at all last night, Sherlock.” He looked over his shoulder, “And you do not tell me who I do or do not get to have here as a guest.”

“But, John! Jim Moriarty!” And there it was.

“Yes? What about him?”

“He tried to kill you last year and now you’re _friends_ with him?!”

“In case you forget yourself, Sherlock Holmes, _that_ was entirely your fault. He was using me to get to you and if you tell me that you didn’t think, even for one minute, that I was Moriarty when you saw me on that pool-deck, you’re a god awful liar.” He leaned against the range and studied his moody flat-mate, “That reminds me. What the hell were you even doing _home_ last night? I thought you were with Molly?”

“I _live_ here. This is my home.”

“That’s not the question I asked you.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because when you’re in a foul temper like this, it’s the rest of us who suffer. So either come clean with it or you can just sit and mope like you always do when you get in a strop and I’ll just ignore you until you feel like talking about this like adults.” He turned back to the kettle as it clicked off. “I don’t have the time or the patience to put up with you right now, Sherlock, I really just don’t.”

“I’ll have Mrs Hudson kick you out.”

“No, you won’t.” He fixed up three cups of tea and took them out on a tray. “But if you’re not careful, I’ll move out first.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_!”

“Just you fucking try and stop me, Sherlock Holmes.” He looked at Sherlock as he set the tray down on the coffee table. “Now sit down and drink your tea.”

“Where? Mycroft is sitting in my chair.”

“Oh for ... ” John sighed as Mycroft got smoothly to his feet. “Mycroft, take my chair. I’ll sit on the couch.” 

“Thank you, Captain.” Mycroft just smiled at him and once he was settled again, John gave him a cup of tea.

“Why do you call him that?” Sherlock grouched, “That’s not his name.”

“It’s a sign of respect, Sherlock.”

“I thought you couldn’t stand each other.”

“Why do you suddenly care?”

“Because I don’t like not knowing things and being left out of things!” Sherlock exploded. “That’s why!”

“Has he always been like this?” John just looked at Mycroft, who nodded sagely but said nothing. “I am so sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. If he hasn’t changed by now, I very much doubt he ever will. And do not think you owe him an explanation for what happened last night.”

“If it will get him to shut up, I might just tell him the whole story,” John muttered, giving Sherlock a sideways glance. Something had happened between Sherlock and Molly, it was the only explanation he could think of. It was quiet and tense while they drank their tea. When the cups were empty, John took everything back to the kitchen and did a quick wash-up. Then he went back upstairs and got ready for his day.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock had followed him upstairs.

“I have work, Sherlock. If I don’t show up this week, they’ll fire me.”

“Oh, who cares? You don’t even like the job.”

“Well, one of us has to make a reliable income, and I can’t count on you to do it, so I am going to work today!” He snapped, grabbing an overnight bag and tossing a few changes of clothes into it. “I may not be home tonight. Don’t know if I’ll stay at Greg’s or somewhere else, but I’ll let you know.”

“Why do you _like_ him?”

“Because he treated me like a human being, which I can’t say for everyone in my life right now.” John paused at the door and looked at his flat-mate, “You’re not as bad as you used to be, Sherlock, I’ll give you credit for that much.”

“Oh. Um, thank you, John.” Sherlock looked kind of confused by the compliment.

“I know you hate talking and emotions aren’t really your favourite thing, but ... what happened with you and Molly last night?”

“She ... kicked me out.”

“She kicked you _out_?” He raised an eyebrow. That was kind of surprising. “What’d you do this time?”

“I don’t know. She’s been so ... moody lately, I don’t know what’s changed.”

“Hmm. She dumped Jim Moriarty so she could start dating you, did you know that?”

“She ... what?”

“Mhm. Right around last Christmas, just straight up dumped him. I don’t think you’ve done anything that awful, so I doubt she’s thinking about dumping you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me, Sherlock. I’ve dated enough women in my life. They’re mysterious, moody creatures whose logic baffles even the most rational minds.”

“So ... what can I do?”

“Well, don’t worry your head too much.” John smiled and patted Sherlock on the arm. “Just keep your head down for a while.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t take your frustrations out on other people, please? Last night was a bit terrible for me and I really didn’t intend to bring Jim back here at all.”

“So, why did you?”

“Because no one would think to look for him at Baker Street. That was Seb’s logic, and probably your brother’s. It was kind of his idea, come to think of it.” John sighed and looked at his watch. “I really do have to get to work, Sherlock. I’ll see you later, alright? Just stay out of trouble for me?”

“Do I have to?”

“Well, try to avoid having any _fun_ without me.”

“I make no promises.”                                                      

“I’m not asking you to.” He shook his head and went downstairs. “Text if you need me,  I’ll get back to you when I have a minute.”

“Alright, John.” Sherlock followed him, he didn’t miss Mycroft coming down behind them. “I’m ... sorry. That was rather brutish of me, wasn’t it?”

“You’re lucky I’m used to it, Sherlock. And I’m sorry for anything mean I said to you, it was a bad night.”

“You keep saying that but you never say _why_.”

“Long story very short, I got mixed up with a Russian gang and almost got myself killed last night when one of mine turned on us.”

“Oh my god!”

“You asked. If you want details, ask Mycroft or even Greg, they were both there.” He held the door of the waiting car for Mycroft, having waved the driver to stand down.

“Good luck, John.” Sherlock switched places at the door with him. “Do try to avoid getting shot at by any Russian mobsters, will you?”

“I’ll try, but I think we’re alright for now.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Sherlock leaned into the car a bit as John put his overnight bag on the floor by his feet. “I do still need my blogger, y’know.”

“You hate the way I write.”

“You’re too flowery, but you’re a storyteller. I’m not.”

“If people want to read about the biological characteristics and breakdowns of ninety-seven types of tobacco ash, they’ll read about it in a scientific journal or a text-book. And really, the decomposition time-frame of the human body in varying conditions isn’t very good breakfast-table reading material.”

“You don’t mind it.”

“I’m a doctor, of course I don’t mind it.” He smiled, “See you later, Sherlock.”

“Goodbye, John. Please come home?”

“Maybe not tonight. I need to take care of a few things.” He squeezed Sherlock’s hand and knew peace had been made, an understanding reached regarding Sherlock’s bad behaviour last night and this morning. He didn’t know the why, but he would find out eventually. Mycroft ordered his driver to John’s workplace and read over a few files of varying import as they got underway.

“You’re very ... patient with my brother, John.”

“I try to be. I really do.” He sighed and looked out the windows as the city slid past them. “Thanks for the ride to work, by the way. I didn’t want to ask you for one, but ... ”

“Nonsense. After last night, it’s the least I can do.” Mycroft looked up at him and smiled a bit, holding out one of the files. “You may find this one to be rather insightful.”

“What is it?” He studied the outside, “Classified?”

“Highly classified, but your clearance was increased accordingly several months ago.”

“Thank you, sir.” John would look at it later. “And I would love to hear how you and Seb Moran know each other, the _whole_ story.”

“It’s quite a story, I’m not certain you would believe most of it.”

“I’d love to hear it. Either from you or from him.” John smiled and slipped the file into his work-bag.

When the car stopped, Mycroft gave him two more files.

“Have a good day, John. You may not be interested in my brother knowing your precise whereabouts, but please keep me informed?”

“Absolutely. Worst case, you can ask Greg or Seb.  It’s very likely I’ll either be sleeping on Greg’s couch or wherever Seb took Jim this morning.”

“Of course. I’ll be in touch.” Mycroft gave him a bit of a smile.

“You always are,  Mycroft.” He chuckled and closed the door. “Thanks, Charles.”

“Have a good day, sir. Hopefully a slightly less-exciting one today?”

“Fingers crossed.” He smiled and shook hands with Mycroft’s driver before he headed into the building. He was several minutes early, and if anyone was surprised to see him, they said nothing. John set his bags down, stashed his overnight bag for later, and fired off a quick text to Sherlock and one to Jim to let them both know he’d gotten to work safely. Then he cleared out his email inbox and looked over the day’s patient-roster.

 

It was fairly standard until about noon when he got a walk-in just after lunch. He always kept slots open for walk-ins, sometimes they were used and sometimes they weren’t. He was just coming back from lunch, having taken an hour and rendezvoused with Jim, who had insisted on driving him _back_ to work after paying the bill for both of them.

“I already said this once, and I told Sherlock the same damn thing.” He stood by the Jag with Jim, “Stay out of trouble, don’t get into anything I’ll be needed to get you back out of again.”

“Don’t have fun without you?”

“Don’t have fun without me.” He smiled, “One for good luck, I have an afternoon’s roster full of ungrateful patients waiting to abuse me.”

“Why do you work this job?”

“Because someone at Baker Street has to make an income and Sherlock’s so deucedly picky about his cases it’s a miracle we get any work at all.”

“Two for good luck and let me know if you’re coming home to me tonight.” Jim pulled him close and they kissed on the kerb, in full view of the public and not quite caring. John wasn’t sure who was responsible for the moan he heard, but he put one hand to the back of his mad Irish boffin’s neck and carefully slid his fingers into Jim’s hair, tightening just a bit the way he’d learned Jim liked.

“Oh, that’s not fair.” Jim huffed when they finally parted for want of air. “You are a proper menace, Captain Watson.”

“Your proper menace, Mr Moriarty.” John smiled, “You don’t mind.”

“Not at all. But if we don’t stop, you’ll never get back to work and Christ knows what questionable things I might have in mind for you.”

“Surprise me, sweetheart.” He chuckled and stepped back, “I’ll see you tonight. Sherlock knows I won’t be home tonight, I told him this morning after I got him to see a bit of sense.”

“Oh, I would _love_ to know how you did that!”

“Maybe I’ll tell you the whole story!” John hitched his work-bag over one shoulder and waved as he headed into the building. He had no trouble getting back to his office and getting set up for his afternoon clinic. One of the secretaries stopped in as he was going over the rosters, knocking first and wearing a bit of a shamefaced expression.

“Sorry to bother you, Doctor Watson but you’ve a walk-in first this afternoon. We managed to sneak her into your 1:15 slot.”

“That’s alright, Patricia.” He looked at the woman and smiled, “It’s here on my schedule, so you can just see them in when they’re ready.”

“Of course,  Doctor Watson. We offered her any of our physicians, but she said it _had_ to be you, said she didn’t trust anyone else to do it properly or some such.”

“Hmm.  Well, you know the drill.” He was reading over the basic information displayed on his screen for his next patient. The name was unfamiliar to him, but nothing seemed too out of character. They got “Jane Doe” patients of both sexes all the time, usually for STI/STD testing or maternal care. This patient was in for a maternity well-check, it looked like. Previous records were available, redacted as necessary, and everything looked alright. He gauged the foetus at twenty weeks or four and a half months, and from former scans everything _looked_ alright. Both the mother and the foetus were doing alright. Then, under the “Father” heading, he got a _huge_ clue. Right as his door opened to admit his next patient and his nurse.

“S. Holmes.” He squinted. “Sherlock? You’re kidding me!”               

“Doctor Watson, your next patient is here?”

“Thank you, Marie.” He looked up over the monitor of his computer and got quickly to his feet. “Molly!”

“John. Hi.” It was Molly Hooper, and she looked ... well, she looked healthy. She had that glow all expecting mothers wore, but he could tell this had been hard on her. Not just physically, but emotionally. And he had a pretty fucking good idea why Sherlock had gotten the boot last night, why Molly had been so ... moody lately.

“You can go get everything set up, Marie, thank you.” Going around his desk, John pushed the door closed and hugged Molly.

“Yes, Doctor Watson.” Marie just smiled in that way of hers and went to get the treatment-cubicle ready for Molly.

“Christ, I hope you’re in a better mood than Sherlock was when I got home last night!” John held Molly close, careful not to hurt her, “He was downright monstrous.”

“I’m so sorry, John.  I didn’t ... I didn’t think he’d ... ”

“Stop it, it’s not your fault. My night wasn’t much fun and coming home to him being all stroppy wasn’t really my idea of enjoyable.”

“I heard about the Russians.” Molly reached up and touched one of the healing injuries on his face. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m not sorry, I got to walk away.” He smiled and took her coat and bag, “So did everyone else important to me.”

“So ... are you and Jim dating then?”

“Is it dating if we haven’t even really gone on a proper date yet?”

“Have you?”

“Nope. A couple of lunch-dates is all.” John put an arm around her shoulders and steered her into the cubicle, “I take it you know the routine, Molly?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Alright. Just give a holler when you’re ready for us.” He stepped out of the enclosure and sat down at his desk to wait until she needed him again. He had a pretty good idea why Molly had come to _him_ , and he was grateful. He didn’t have to ask Sherlock a question he may not want to answer. Well, he kind of still did, but he had a way _to_ ask it now. When Molly called them back, he and Marie went back into the cubicle.

“Alright, let’s see what’s to see here.” He had already washed his hands and gloved up, long habit, and gave Molly a reassuring smile as Marie got her into proper position. “How have you been feeling, Doctor Hooper?”

“Fine? I mean, besides the mood-swings, sickness, and everything else?”

“It’s different for every woman.” He chuckled and comfortingly squeezed her ankle. “Now, let’s see where your little one is hiding today, then, shall we?”

“Okay.” It was so interesting to have Molly Hooper on his table, but she was a friend and she had come to him out of some sense of desperation, and he would take care of her properly. The scan was completely normal, and everything was measuring properly.

“And ... there’s the heartbeat.” He didn’t have any trouble finding the foetal heartbeat, “Good and strong, isn’t it?”

“I’ve ... never heard it before,” Molly said softly, staring at the screen displaying her baby. “I’ve never seen pictures, either.”

“You can’t tell me you’ve gone this long and this is the first time you’re seeing your baby?”

“Yeah, it is.” Molly sniffled, “Oh, God, John, you probably think I’m crazy!”

“Sweetie, I live with your _boyfriend_. Crazy is all relative.” He squeezed her hand tightly. “I’ll send you home with some pictures, alright?”

“You can _do_ that?”

“I absolutely can do that!” He frowned and looked at Marie, who wore a similar expression. “Where on earth have you been going that you weren’t allowed to see the baby or hear the heartbeat?”

“Here and there and a bit of everywhere in London.” Molly held onto his hand, and he let her, she needed it. “I didn’t ... ”

“You didn’t know how to ask.”

“I didn’t think I had the right to ask!”

“Molly, this is _your_ baby, you have every _right_ to ask! And as far as I can tell, your baby is absolutely perfectly healthy. Just take care of yourself. If you feel the need to start stepping back at work, go for it. And if anyone at Bart’s pitches a strop, I’ll send letters.”

“You would do that for me?”

“You’re my friend, Molly.” He finished up the scan and started cleaning up, queuing up several of the better images to print out so Molly could take them home with her. Once he had wiped off the transducer gel, which had a tendency to be a bit sticky, he handed her a few hygiene wipes and did a quick but thorough manual exam.

“Relax for me, love.”

“Sorry.”

“And bear down for me?” He nodded as she did as asked, withdrawing once he’d done all he needed. “Alright, excellent. We’ll step out again so you can get dressed. Then I need to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Okay. Thank you, John.” Molly smiled shyly at him as he held the curtain for Marie, who rolled the ultrasound machine out of the cubicle. It was a brief wait, during which time he washed his hands and sat down at his desk, opening a new encounter report for Molly. He input all of the data he had at his disposal and was typing up new notes when she appeared at his desk.

“Hi.”

“Sit down, Molly.” He gestured for her to take a seat, which she did. “So, is this why you kicked him out last night?”

“Yes.”

“Does he _know_ about this?”He raised an eyebrow. Sherlock was a bit of a know-it-all, but sometimes he could miss what was right in front of him.

“I ... I don’t know. I think so? I don’t know.”

“Well, in the interest of full disclosure, he told me this morning that you have been a bit moodier than usual recently and he wasn’t sure what the problem was.”

“So ... you _are_ speaking again?”

“More or less. My phone’s been blowing up all day with messages from him, par for the course.”

“Oh, John.” Molly put her head in both hands, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make so much trouble for you!”

“You _didn’t_ , Molly.” He reached across the desk and touched her sleeve, “I’m really glad you came to see me today.”

“Me, too.” Molly smiled shyly at him, “You’re a good friend, John. I don’t think we appreciate you enough.”

“Oh, don’t get sappy on me!” He chuckled, “I’m nothing spectacular. And you were putting up with Sherlock a long time before I came into the picture.”

“But you _are_! You’re intelligent, you’re witty, you’re kind, and you have the patience of a bleeding saint!” Molly gave him a look he was familiar enough with and he just kept quiet. Anything he would have said anyway was forgotten as the door of his office crashed open.

“Sir, you can’t just ... Doctor Watson, I am _so_ sorry!”

“Molly!”

“Sherlock?” Molly got carefully to her feet and John got up as well.

“That’s alright, Patricia.” He sighed and waved off the secretary. “Let him in.”

“Molly! You weren’t at Bart’s when I stopped by!”

“Have you heard of _knocking_ , Sherlock?” He was only half-joking, Sherlock had a terrible habit of barging into his office unannounced quite regularly.

“I’m sorry, John. Molly, are you alright?”

“She’s _fine_ , Sherlock.” John stepped around his desk. “But you two need to talk things out, so I’ll step out and leave you for a minute.”

“Oh, no, don’t bother, John! I’ve already taken too much of your time!” Molly grabbed him by the sleeve, but he just smiled and took her hand.

“Talk to each other, you deserve it. And Sherlock, if you take this poorly, I shall be quite put out with you.”

“Like you were last night?”

“Worse, perhaps. You two talk this over like adults and I’ll be outside when you’re done. Alright?”

“Okay.” Molly didn’t look very sure of that but John gave her a hug and kissed her on the forehead.

“He needs to know, sweetie. And you deserve to get it off your chest. I’ll keep him in line if he tries any funny business.”

“Thanks, John. You’re a good friend.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” He touched her cheek and turned to Sherlock, “And you, be _nice_. She’s had a hard time of it already and your strops aren’t helping anyone.”

“Yes, John. What is this?”

“Don’t ask _me_. Ask your girlfriend.” He went to Sherlock and pulled him away from the door. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock hadn’t looked away from Molly once as John gave his orders and slipped out of the office. Closing the door behind him, he went as far as _locking_ it, which he rarely if ever did, and he made his way to the main desk.

“Doctor Watson, is everything alright?” Patricia asked as he dropped Molly’s chart in the proper slot.

“It’s fine, Patricia. They just need a few moments alone is all.”

“He seemed to be in a bit more of a hurry today than usual, a bit more concerned.”

“That happens occasionally.” He picked up his next chart and flipped it open. “Is there an empty office where I can see the rest of my patients?”

“Yes, of course.” Patricia looked at something on her computer, “It looks like Doctor Morrison has gone home for the afternoon, you can take his office?”

“Perfect. Can you inform Marie and fetch my next patient, please?”

“Absolutely, Doctor Watson.” Patricia looked at him as he walked away, “Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t think so. But do feel free to tell me when Holmes and Hooper leave my office, will you?”

“Yes, sir, of course.” If she was confused by his request, any of them, she didn’t say so.

 

Taking a few moments to get logged back into the computer once he had let himself into the vacant office, John read up on his next patient.

“Mr Steder, the doctor will see you now!” He heard Marie’s cheerful voice out in the waiting room and smirked. He waited until he heard footsteps at the door and kept his focus on the computer.

“Hello, Mr Steder. How are you today?”

“How do you _think_ I am?! I’m here, ain’t I?” The crabby old Pensioner griped. “And this ain’t your office!”

“My office is unavailable until further notice, Mr Steder, I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.” John just gave his tetchy patient a brief, insincere smile.

“Would you like me to stay, Doctor Watson?” Marie asked politely.

“Yes, please, Ms Holland.” John said in the tone of voice that meant “If you leave me alone with this old tosser, I will personally make your life unbearably miserable.” Getting up, he went around the desk and closed the door.

“Why does _she_ need to stay, then?” Mr Steder asked sharply.

“A matter of procedure. She’s here for my sake, Mr Steder, not yours.” John said calmly as he washed his hands and gloved up. “If you would kindly step behind the curtain and undress, sir, we’ll see to your afternoon’s ills promptly.” With a great deal of complaining and carrying on, Jeremiah Steder disappeared behind the curtain and got undressed.

“Everything?” He shouted from the cubicle.

“Yes, Mr Steder. Just change into the gowns, if you please.” He called patiently, “You may use the second drape for additional coverage if you prefer.”

“Cor. If I left you in the same room alone with Jeremiah Steder, you’d probably kill him out of spite,” Marie whispered. “Bless you for taking care of _him_.”

“I’ve honestly seen and treated far worse. At least he’s shouting his abuses in the same language.” He shrugged and checked his watch. Marie snickered, shoving him in the shoulder.

“Doctor Watson!”

“I am not sorry.” John sniffed. Finally, Mr Steder shouted for them and John looked at Marie.

“Into battle?”

“Into battle. Onward.” He managed to keep a neutral expression as he stepped into the cubicle, glancing at the chart in one hand.

“So, Mr Steder, what brings you in today?” A standard question with an answer that took a good fifteen minutes. Everything from a headache to an ingrown toenail and a whole host of contradictory ills was listed and John dutifully listened while making nonsense scribbles on the chart. He did write one note on the page: “Attach recording of patient for transcriptionist.” He had his voice-recorder running, had since Mr Steder had walked into the office, he always did when he got certain patients. It was bad enough that he started making faces behind Mr Steder’s back as he ran the physical bit of the encounter.

“Are you laughin’ at me?!” He shrieked after one close call.

“No, sir, we’re medical professionals.” John said sweetly, “We don’t have a sense of humour.”

“How _dare_ you?!” Mr Steder pulled himself erect. “Well, I’ve never been so insulted! I’ll have your license for that cheek!”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, Mr Steder.” John finished what he was doing and stepped back from his cranky patient. “Will there be anything else today, Mr Steder?”

“Get me a doctor who knows how to treat a patient!”

“Anything else?”

“Out!” He bellowed. John grabbed Marie and bolted. Something went flying past his head but missed by a narrow margin. Getting out of the office, he closed the door carefully and looked at his nurse.

“God love Jeremiah Steder, because I’m not sure anyone else does!”

“I think you handled that rather well! At least his aim is terrible.” Marie chuckled, “Should we have the rest of them draw straws?”

“Might as well.” He shrugged and went to the desk again. Patricia just looked up and broke into a smile.

“Uh oh. Steder again?”

“Who’s available?”

“Stanger said he’d take Steder and any of your other patients who throw you out like that.” Patricia managed to refrain from a chuckle. “What _is_ it about you he doesn’t like?”

“Hell if I know! Did you know, he threatened to yank my license this time?”

“Oh, dear.” Patricia managed a properly stern expression. “Not that you would mind terribly much, I imagine.”

“Well, no, but unless my idiot flat-mate gets his priorities straight, we’ll be out on the streets in no time.” John sighed and looked for Paul Stanger.

“Harassing the patients again, Watson?” Oh, there he was.

“Got one for you, Paul.” He handed over the chart. “Mr Steder’s bad mood is _not_ my fault, in my defence.”

“But the escalation of said bad mood might just be?”

“You know how he is.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “Good luck, Paul. I’ll send you the audio files in a moment”

“He’s not going to bite my head off, is he?”

“I make no promises.” He shrugged. “Good luck, Catherine!”

“You’re a bad person, John Watson.” Catherine Wilkes rolled her eyes at him as she followed Dr Stanger into the office. The visit didn’t take very long, and John and Marie made themselves scarce when Mr Steder took his leave. They heard him but did not see him and it wasn’t until the door had closed on his ranting that John let out the breath he’d been holding.

“That could have gone better.” He muttered. “Who’s next, Patricia?”

“It looks like you have Mrs Benson next.”

“Oh, thank Christ.” He picked up the chart, “She’s always a delight.” He gave the chart to Marie and went back to his borrowed office-space. It wasn’t long at all before his next patient was in and he was genuinely polite and friendly with her. Margaret Benson was a favourite of his, she had a way of always brightening up his mood no matter what kind of day he’d been having before.

“Hello, Mrs Benson!”

“Hello, dear! I brought you biscuits!”

“Oh, you spoil me.” He took the offered gift-bag, “I don’t have to share these, do I?”

“Of course you don’t! Those are for _you_!” She gave him a fond look, “I suppose you can share with your sweet nurse and that rascal flat-mate of yours, but no one else!”

“No one?” He set the bag on his desk. “Did I tell you I've got a boyfriend now, Mrs Benson?”

“Oh, do tell me, dear! You know how I love gossip!” If her eyes didn’t just light up like a candle. John chuckled and made quick work of his wash-up, knowing damn well if he breathed a word to Mrs Benson, the whole of Greater London would know within hours that John Watson was dating Jim Moriarty. And what a stir _that_ would cause. It didn’t seem like anyone who really mattered cared that much, it would take Sherlock a bit of time to come around of course, but Mycroft and Greg didn’t seem too terribly bothered by the idea of John getting chummy with Jim Moriarty. They probably figured he could be another set of eyes on Jim to keep him out of any serious trouble. Retrieving his phone, he found a picture he’d taken over lunch. He didn’t have very many at the moment, but that would likely change as time went on.

“That’s him, Mrs Benson. I suspect you probably recognize him.” John handed her the phone and let her look at the picture herself as he ran the exam.

“Oh, isn’t _he_ a handsome one!” Mrs Benson cooed, “You've got an eye for the dark and mysterious, don’t you?”

“Might have.” He chuckled. “He’s not quite as tall as Sherlock, though.”

“Oh, that’s alright! He’s quite the looker, Doctor Watson, good for you!” She looked at the picture a bit more, “Oh, you look so _happy_ in this picture, the both of you! But what on earth did you do to yourselves?”

“Bit of a rough-up last night, nothing that’ll leave any real scars on either of us.”

“Reckless boys.” She rolled her eyes and gave his phone back. “Now, is that Jim Moriarty?”

“Mhm. You can imagine that didn’t make Sherlock too terribly happy.”

“Bah. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Nope.” John shook his head as he handed his phone to Marie, who carefully set it aside. “It was a meeting of chance, I bought him lunch yesterday and everything else just ... kind of happened.”

“Does he treat you well?”

“He treats me like I matter.” John took Mrs Benson’s hand in his, “I can’t say that’s true for everyone in my social circle. Sherlock is so much better than he used to be, but he still has his moments.”

“We all do, dear. My Rodney certainly has _his_.” Mrs Benson gave him a fond, patient smile. “Well, I hope you two are disgustingly happy together.”

“Thank you, Mrs Benson.” John would be damned if he blushed.

 

Once he was done with Mrs Benson, going so far as to see her to the door and out to the street to make sure she got a cab home, he had a break between patients and did some catching up on charting and dictation. Patricia informed him that his office was vacant again, so he moved back into his own space and found a thank-you note from Sherlock and Molly on his desk. They had talked for as long as they felt comfortable taking up John’s time and work-space and were going back to Bart’s together. Molly had confessed everything to Sherlock, shown him the pictures John had given her earlier, and asked if he had any interest at all in being part of the child’s life. A bit shell-shocked, Sherlock had asked for a bit of time to think over how _much_ time he could devote to a child, especially that of an unwed mother. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, of course, he just ... well, quite frankly, he was a bit afraid.

“Good thing I’m not on Baker Street tonight.” He folded the note into his pocket and checked his messages. There were a few from Sherlock, who was in a bit of a panic.

 

**I’m not going to say this isn’t your responsibility, because it is, but Molly is asking for you to be there. Please try to be there for her? For the baby? – JW**

**What if I’m not meant to be a parent? What if I do it wrong? – SH**

**There’s no set-in-stone right or wrong way to raise a child, Sherlock. – JW**

**Will ... will you help me, John? I don’t know what I’m doing. – SH**

**Of course, I’ll help you. You’re my best friend and you’re about to become a father, that’s a huge thing. Things are going to have to change around Baker Street, you know.  – JW**

He sent off that last text and put his phone down to focus on work again.

 

It didn’t take very long for his last patient to come through, and after he finished up a few last things for the night, John set aside all of the charts he’d had that day and looked at his watch. It was almost five-thirty, it felt later than that. The sun was still up, of course, but it felt so much later than it was. That happened sometimes. Shaking his head, John got up and fetched his coat and bags. He’d sent Seb a text about an hour ago, and as he shrugged into his coat, his phone chirped. The text wasn’t from Seb, it was from Jim. He chuckled and pocketed his phone as he left his office, making sure to lock up after himself. Jim waited for him in the waiting room, looking quite properly like Jim Moriarty today, but John could see the little hints of His Jim here and there. In the sly tilt of his mouth as he listened to the receptionists at their gossip, the carefully casual way he sat in the chair.

“Hello, you.” John stopped before Jim, one hand on the strap of his work-bag. “Have a good day?”

“Oh, it was quite interesting, love.” Jim looked up and smiled, “How was yours?”

“Had a few rather difficult patients, one threatened my job security, all in a day’s work.” He shrugged as he held out one hand to Jim. “Seb’s got the car?”

“Yep. Come on, I’m taking you home, and then out to dinner.”

“Fantastic.” He was near on to starving, so food sounded amazing.

“Also, I believe we had arrangements with Lestrade and Mr Holmes?”

“Yep. You’ve heard from them, I take it?”

“Seb certainly has.” Jim’s smile slid into a smirk and he tugged on John’s tie a bit to pull him in for a proper kiss. “Come here, you handsome bastard.”

“Pushy thing, aren’t you?”

“Might as well give them what they’ve been waiting for since I walked in the door.”

“Oh, you’re a bad man, Jim Moriarty.” John chuckled and leaned into a rather lovely kiss. Someone else in the room made a soft, desperate sound.

“Not. Available, ladies.” Jim murmured as they parted a bit to breathe. “Hands off.”

“Oh, I think it’s pretty bloody obvious I’m not on the market.” John chuckled, “Come on, you mad thing, let’s go home and get our evening started.”

“Yes, let’s.” Jim smiled, that sweet smile he seemed to save just for John, and slid an arm around his waist as they left the office.

“Good night, ladies!” He called to the receptionists, who were likewise getting ready to go home for the night.

“Good night, Doctor Watson!” They all fell to giggling and whispering, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. It was a quiet walk from the office down to the street, where Seb waited with the Jag.

“Mr Moriarty. Captain Watson.” He just smiled slyly at the sight of them together.

“Home, Seb, if you don't mind?” Jim said calmly as Seb got the door of the Jag.

“Yes, sir.” Seb nodded and once they were settled, hopped in the front and got them underway. John didn’t think to ask where they were going, it didn’t seem important. Home, right now, was wherever Jim was. It wasn't necessarily any particular physical location.

 

The drive home was quiet, which John appreciated after the day he’d had at work. It wasn’t all bad, but it had certainly been an interesting one.

“Where are we?” John looked out the window as the car came to a halt. He hadn’t really paid that much attention to where they were going, trusting Jim knew where they were going and Seb wouldn’t ever steer him wrong.

“Why don’t you take a look? One of my most secure safe-houses in London.” Jim smiled as Seb opened the door for them. “I keep minimum staff here, usually just Seb and one K9 team.”

“Douglas and Ajax, by any chance?”

“Of course.”

“I like them.” John smiled and slid out, taking his work-bag. Jim had his overnight bag, wouldn’t let him take it as he shoved him out of the Jag. John looked around and took a minute to get his bearings. Home was a rather unusual locale. St Katharine’s, by the looks, near the Marina. Like, spitting distance. Not near the Marina, _on_ the Marina. He could actually _see_ the docks from here. And one of the biggest houseboats he’d ever set eyes on in his life.

“This is nice.” He looked over at Jim and smiled, “Nice little bolt-hole you’ve got here.” Jim just smiled and took his hand.

“Little bolt-hole is relative. Let me show you where I hide when I really need to keep my head down.” Jim led him onto the private dock-slip and from there onto the houseboat he’d noticed earlier. “This is _Newcastle_.”

“Forget what I said about small! Wow!” John chuckled, “This isn’t a houseboat, it’s a floating mansion!”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s fantastic!” He turned in a full circle just to get a better feel for the scale of the place. “It’s not _quite_ , um, subtle, though?”

“It doesn’t have to be. Lestrade and Holmes both know about this place, but no one else does.”

“Ah.” John looked over the railing to the lower deck, where he assumed the cabins were situated. “What’s down there?”

“Come and see, why don’t you?”

“Lead on!” He followed Jim down the stairs. “Place feels like a _house_ , I don’t feel like I’m on a boat right now.”

“She’s quite stable, occasionally we’ll get tidal rocking, but it’s never very violent.”

“Please tell me you have a shower around here somewhere, because God knows I need one.”

“There’s a shower here. Bad day at work, love?”

“Two patients threw up on me, one tried to hit me. Not the same patient who threatened to take my license, by the way. And a six-year-old child kicked me in the shoulder.”

“I didn’t realize your job was so hazardous.”

“No more or less hazardous than running after Sherlock solving crimes.” He looked over his shoulder at the sound of movement behind him. It was just Ajax, but no sign of Andrew Douglas. He knew the agent was around somewhere nearby, but he didn’t mind giving Ajax a bit of a fuss.

“Well, hello, Ajax. Fancy seeing you again, lad. All recovered after last night’s excitement? Right back to doing your job, is it?” Ajax, in a complete breach of conduct, reared back on his hind legs and put his paws on John’s chest.

“Oi! None of that, you great brute! What kind of behaviour is _that_?” He laughed, giving Ajax a shove, “Anyone didn’t know better, they’d think I was your handler, you idiot! Douglas!”

“Yes, sir?” Andrew Douglas appeared in a heartbeat, paced by another dog. This dog was much, _much_ smaller than Ajax, and John was a little confused.

“First, your partner has absolutely _no_ manners. Second, and no offence, what is that?”

“What’d Ajax do this time?”

“Mistook me for a tree, I think.” John shook his head and studied the small dog that was giving him the eye from behind Douglas’s legs. “What about that one, then?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Jim rolled his eyes and dropped into a crouch, holding out one hand. “Tink, you come here right now! Do not be like that with John, alright. Come _here_ , you jealous brat.” All that got them was a look from Jim to John again and he was briefly reminded of a suspicious human child meeting a stranger.

“Yours, Jim?”

“Mhm. She’s being stubborn and silly right now.” Jim looked up at him briefly, “Apparently Daddy’s been away a bit too long for her liking.”

“What’s her name?”

“This little pill is Tinker Bell. I just call her Tink, though.”

“What breed is she? She’s not very ... big, compared to Ajax.” John stood back a bit and watched Tinker Bell come out to greet Jim a little reservedly.

“She's a Pomerianian cross. Not terribly fond of strangers, this one, and very unhappy with me right now.”

“Well, she’s quite pretty.” John smiled and thought of something. “She’s not afraid of Ajax, is she?”

“Oh, Christ, no! She thinks she’s the big scary Alpha dog and Ajax just lets her walk all over him. It’s a bit shameful, really.”

“Shame to your breed, Ajax.” John looked at the friendly German Shepherd who apparently had a thing for John in particular. He was okay with that, if one of Jim’s security dogs liked him.

“If you don’t need us right now, Mr Moriarty, Ajax and I will kip off for the night,” Douglas called Ajax to heel and clipped on his lead. “See you in the morning, wherever you need us to be.”

“Yes, that’s fine, Lieutenant. Thank you.” Jim got up and held out one hand to Douglas, “Thank you for what you did last night, that was very brave of you both.”

“It’s just doing our jobs, Mr Moriarty.” Douglas shook Jim’s hand and offered a neat salute to John next. “Good night, Captain Watson.”

“Good night, Lieutenant. I suspect we’ll be seeing each other again rather sooner than later.”

“Of course, sir.” Douglas just smiled and took Ajax off elsewhere. They heard him exchanging words with someone else and it wasn’t long before Seb showed himself.

“I heard Tinker Bell is making a nuisance of herself down here!” He came trotting down the stairs with that casual hurry and smiled at Tinker Bell, who had _no_ problem recognizing him and rushing to say hello. “Hello, my Princess! Are you being a brat for Daddy’s new boyfriend? Hmm? Is that what this nonsense is about? Are you my silly girl?” John was just about floored when Tinker Bell jumped right into Seb’s arms, almost more excited to see him than she’d been to see Jim.

“You’re okay with this?” John looked over at Jim, who shrugged.

“They’ve always gotten on like that. Seb just about spoils Tink completely rotten.”

“Well, someone’s got to! You’re not around enough to do the job, so I have to do it for you!” Seb just gave them a dirty look and John burst out laughing. Of all the things on his “never thought I’d live to see it happen” list, Sebastian Moran baby-talking a _dog_ was definitely not something he’d expected.

“We’ve talked about this, Princess. You can’t just behave yourself for _me_. You have to behave for Daddy, too, and you have to be nice to his boyfriend.” Seb said in a scolding tone of voice as he set Tinker Bell back on her feet, which she did not approve of.

“Now, you go say hello to Daddy and give John a chance. He’s a good one, I think you’ll like him alright. Shoo, with you.” He made a shooing motion with one hand and gave Tinker Bell a nudge with his foot. She eventually got the unsubtle hint and came over to give Jim a more appropriate greeting. And once she had satisfied that requirement, she turned to John and they just stared at each other. He knew that getting down on her level would help, and spied a pile of cushions against one wall. Making his way over, he pulled one out a bit and carefully sat down.

“What are you doing, Johnny?”

“Sitting down. Dogs tend to trust me a bit more if I’m on their level.” He didn’t look away from Tinker Bell. “Also, I probably smell like all sorts of strange things right now.”

“You smell like _work_ , why does that matter?”

“Well, for all we know, she has some bad memory of hospital smells.” He held out one hand carefully. “I’m not going to hurt you, Tinker Bell. And I can’t make any real promises, but I’ll try not to take all of your Daddy’s time away from you. Come here, you pretty girl. Give me a chance?” Tinker Bell slinked closer, hovering just out of reach, uncertain of John’s intentions to her. Then, suddenly, she came right up close to him.

“That’s more like it. What’s got your attention, then?” He stayed still as she sniffed around him, obviously attracted by something on his person.

“What on earth is she after like that?”

“I don’t ... oh, wait a minute.” He smiled and carefully shuffled a bit, going for his left pocket. That gave Tinker Bell an opening and she shoved her nose under his hip.

“Oi! Don’t you do that!” He scolded, getting at the item she’d discovered before she could take it and make off with it for dispatch.

“What is that?”

“I keep snacks in my pockets for when I can’t get a full lunch-break. This one must have smelled the trail-mix I had for today.” He held up the small clear snack-baggie, “This is what she was after.”

“Oh, you pest.” Jim rolled his eyes at Tinker Bell, who sniffed at the bag John held up.

“Is she allowed to eat human food?” He asked as Tinker Bell braced herself up on his thigh, very interested in the contents of the baggie. He had some trail-mix and an unpeeled orange.

“Occasionally. Why?”

“I’m not giving her any of the trail-mix, there’s chocolate in that and I’m not stupid. But I know that it’s okay for dogs to eat oranges.” He opened the bag and carefully extracted the orange, resealing the bag before he tossed it one-handed to Seb, who caught it.

“Alright, alright, I’ll share a bit of this with you, but you have to let me get it ready first.” He nudged Tinker Bell out of the way a bit and got to work carefully peeling the orange and breaking off a bit of it for Tinker Bell. He made sure there weren’t any seeds before he held it out to her. “Will this do?” She had lingered nearby and now sniffed at his fingers, licking curiously at the orange slice. She wasn’t sure about the taste, but John knew how to get a dog to try something and smiled, taking a small bite of it himself before offering it back to Tinker Bell.

“Wait, did you just ... ?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s disgusting,” Jim muttered, folding his arms. “She _licked_ it first!”

“It’s how I used to coax strays in Afghanistan to trust me. Seb can tell you that.” He smiled up at his boyfriend, “Don’t worry, I’ll brush my teeth before I even think about kissing you.”

“And why did you do that?”

“Because she wasn’t used to the taste and I was showing her that it’s safe to eat. Believe me, this isn’t the strangest thing I’ve done with food.” He smiled as Tinker Bell took a bite of the orange in his hand. He didn’t want to give her too much at once, but another segment won her over in no time. But she didn’t eat it right away. John watched her carefully set it down on the floor for a moment before taking it between her teeth just so.

“Now what is she doing?” Jim asked in the background. “Isn’t she going to eat it?” Seb hushed him as Tinker Bell came right up to John with the orange held delicately between her teeth like she was presenting some catch to him.

“Is this for me, then?” He asked, smiling as she nudged against his hand. “Well, I don’t think you’re going to let me take it from you, are you? How do we do this, then, Your Highness?” Tinker Bell tossed her head a bit and made a soft sound that wasn’t exactly a growl. It was, but it wasn’t a threatening sound. Other dogs had made it when they wanted him to do something, to take something from them a certain way. John shrugged and decided to go for broke. He hadn’t done _this_ since Afghanistan, specifically his trek out of the mountains at Salang Pass, which had taken him across the mountains and the desert for quite a while before he was discovered by anyone. Leaning in very carefully, he caught a bit of orange between his own teeth and broke it off. He got one half of the segment and Tinker Bell took the other in this fashion.

“Good _girl_ , Tinker Bell.” He smiled once the orange segment had been consumed, “See? I’m not so bad, am I? I give you treats. But that’s _all_ I’m going to give you for now, too much will make you a bit sick and that won’t do.” John reached out and touched her, finally allowed to do so. She was probably the smallest dog he’d ever handled, couldn’t have weighed more than five or six pounds and she wasn't much bigger than his hand, he could easily lift her one-handed. Her colouring was beautiful, she was black with patches of white fur. He knew enough about dogs and coat genetics to know that Tinker Bell was a Parti colour Pom. She was very pretty, and now that she trusted John, very affectionate.

“I think she likes you now.”

“Which I am quite alright with, honestly.” He gave Tinker Bell a kiss on the forehead before he pushed her out of the way so he could get up. “Alright, you, now I need to get up. You can’t sit on me all night.” Taking Jim’s offered hand, John pulled himself to his feet and made an honest attempt to brush off his clothes.

“Congratulations, Captain, you’ve won over Her Highness.” Seb chuckled, “Welcome to the family.”

“I guess so.” He looked down at Tinker Bell, who studied him curiously. “I have things to do tonight, and you are not coming with me. I know that look, you want to go wherever I go.”

“Shower first, then dinner, and off to pub night.” Jim steered him one particular direction.

“I’ll bring the car around in an hour, then?” Seb watched them go, smiling.

“Two hours, just to be safe, Seb.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

As promised, there was, in fact, a shower to be had. Several, actually. The boat had no less than five full bathrooms, some shared en-suite, and they all had shower facilities. The master cabin had access to _two_ of the en-suites, but all John wanted right now was a hot shower. He took one by himself, being quick but efficient with his efforts, and dried off before returning to the bedroom. He refrained from getting dressed just yet, he wasn’t quite sure where Jim was planning to go for dinner. If they were hitting Pub Night after, probably nothing too fancy, but better to wait and ask than assume. Jim emerged from the shared en-suite with a towel about his waist after a few minutes and John smiled.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Feel better?”

“I’m clean, at least.” He rolled his eyes. “And yes, before you ask the question banging around in that head of yours, I’ve brushed my teeth. I even used mouthwash, ta.”

“Was I _going_ to say anything?” Jim raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, you were.”

“Your anticipation should bother me, but it doesn’t.”

“Well, the way you reacted earlier to Tinker Bell deciding she wanted to _feed_ me was pretty bloody telling.” John sat up on the massive bed, “Not that I was going to try kissing you or anything after that.”

“Why did you let her do that?”

“She’s Alpha here, but I’m still above her, and she was sharing her food with me. I had dogs do it rather often in Afghanistan.”

“They would do ...  _that_?”

“They would.” John rubbed his shoulder, thinking of that long, arduous, lonely trek to safety, and the sort of company he’d had for some of it. “Did you know, I had a pack of dogs _adopt_ me while I was trying to get out of the mountains?”

“You _did_?”

“You’ll have to ask Seb about it some time, he remembers better than I do, I think, but when they found me, I had about six or seven dogs with me.” John took the offered towel and ruffled his still-damp hair. “They found me about ... oh, a week after I escaped? Stayed with me right up until I was rescued.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I don’t tell people that part of it. But the dogs would travel with me during the day, bring me food so I didn’t starve, either they caught it or stole it, and kept me warm by sleeping with me at night.” John shook his head a bit, unable to think of that time without a mix of distress and gratitude. “When I couldn’t eat, they fed me; when I couldn’t walk, they would stay with me and guard me until I could move on.”

“How many dogs?”

“Seven, I think? And a few puppies, I think one of the females had given birth to a litter of puppies at some time right before or after they found me.” He leaned back on the bed. “I think that was part of the reason Seb was so surprised to _see_ me when we finally reunited at that crossroads on the Bamiyan-Charikar Highway.”

“You walked a bloody fucking _mountain_ range, John, while injured and delirious! And you wonder why he was so surprised to _see_ you again?”

“It probably didn’t help that the only reason they were even _looking_ for me was that he absolutely refused to let them put me on the KIA lists without a body.”

“But didn’t they send a video of them shooting you in the head?”

“That ... wasn’t me. That was someone else. And because they never took the hood off, no one ever knew better. That was either genius or incredibly _stupid_ of them, but that most certainly wasn’t me. I had already escaped by then, I think that video was released immediately after they discovered I was gone and killed someone else.  Either one of their own, to make a point, or another POW as a scare tactic.” John had seen the video in question after coming home and asking the right people the right questions.

“But you came home. You’re alive.” Jim joined him on the bed, straddling John’s body.

“Lucky me.” He reached out one hand and touched Jim’s chest.

“No, John Watson. Lucky Jim Moriarty.” Jim took his hand and kissed his palm. “If you had died out there, we never would have met, and we would never have had this. I am the lucky one.”

“All I did was buy you lunch yesterday.”

“No one ever buys me lunch, not without wanting something from me. You didn’t want anything except my company.” Jim studied John’s hand, the old scars and calluses in specific places. “You were ... kind to me. You defended me from anyone you thought might mean me harm. At least twice.”

“And I mean it when I say I will never hesitate to do so.” John tilted his head. “People underestimate you all the time. They only see what you want them to see. Or they don’t see you at all.”

“Couldn’t the same be said for you, though?”

“Of course.”

“Says the man who was rescued by a pack of feral Afghan dogs that stayed with him until he was safe.” Jim shook his head. “I can’t believe that. I don’t suppose you remember any of the dogs, do you?”

“I remember all of them.” He rubbed the soft flesh within reach. “They saved my life.”

“Can I ... distract you for a while, John?”

“You can try.” John smiled, “But we have a bit of a schedule.”

“This won’t take long.” Jim just gave him a look and pushed him back against the pillows. “Stay still and let me work my magic.” Before John could ask what that entailed, he found out. But Jim was smart and pre-empted any warning he might have uttered by rolling a condom on over his twitching, semi-erect member.

“C-careful with your teeth.” He gasped, clutching at the sheets so he wouldn’t grab Jim’s hair. Jim just flashed him that smile and went to work, carefully applying the condom with his mouth. John was no stranger to blow-jobs, both protected and otherwise, but even this was new for him.

“Oh my god.”

“Relax, Johnny. Let me make it good for you.”

“Make sure I can at least walk straight when you’re done? Please?”

“Oh, don’t worry about _that_ , dear.” Jim’s smile was wicked and John gulped. Oh brother. Jim got busy finding out what worked best for John and just chuckled when he finally grabbed a handful of dark hair with a strangled yell. Maybe he didn’t know the finer points of penetrative intercourse, but hot damn if he wasn’t aces at oral! And then he put those clever fingers to good use and John wasn’t so much worried about being able to walk straight as he was not looking like he’d been fucked into a mattress. Or, in this case, finger-fucked and sucked dry until he was sobbing. Something told him this wasn’t usually what Jim did for sexual partners, or maybe it was? A show of dominance in the bedroom?

 

When his climax finally came, it was violent and he was so, _so_ grateful for Jim insisting on condoms. His ears were ringing, for Christ’s sake. Jim kissed him on the stomach and disappeared for a moment, returning in good time with a damp cloth or two and smelling of mouthwash and toothpaste despite the condom. He was quick and clinical about clean-up, but careful, and used the second cloth to lay over John’s face.

“Oh, shit.” He croaked.

“Got you good, didn’t I?”

“You ... mad ... Irish bastard.”

“ _Your_ mad, Irish bastard, Johnny.” Jim chuckled and kissed him on the cheek. “Did I tell you I happen to be rather _good_ at blow-jobs?”

“No! Fucking Christ, _warn_ me next time, will you? I can’t feel my toes!” He moved the face-cloth to look at Jim, “You’re a sly little miscreant.”

“Mm. You don’t really mind.” Jim smiled as he leaned over John a bit. “Are you hungry?”

“I can barely think straight and you’re asking if I’m _hungry_?”

“Well, are you?”

“I’m starving.”

“If you can get up, I’ll help you get dressed and we’ll get dinner before we go meet up with Greg and the lads for Pub Night.”

“Good, because I need a fucking stiff drink after the day I had.”

“But not a good fucking?”

“Uh, no. You kind of already took care of that.” John held out one hand to his wily boyfriend, and let Jim haul him off the bed. Getting dressed didn’t take very long. Trousers and dress-shirts were the dress code for the evening. John didn’t mind, it was business-casual and he wasn’t wearing a tie. That was fine with him.

 

Once they were ready, Jim led the way from the _Newcastle_ to a marina restaurant, a neat little Indian place literally right next to their mooring. They had a reservation, of course Jim had planned everything, and they were quickly seated. Their server was polite but nervous and carefully repeated their orders back to them. He was new to the staff, it was his first night on the floor during the “dinner rush”. If that was truly the case, they had no fault with his behaviour. But John and Jim were men of intrigue and action, and they noticed small details. There was nothing about their server that blatantly struck them as ... off, but Jim sent a text to Seb with a specific request that brought a subtle security presence into the restaurant. Well, at the very least a slightly more visible one. John saw Seb, Douglas sans Ajax, and a few other members of Jim’s regular security detail scattered at discrete posts around the restaurant. That was fine with him. It was when their drinks came that John’s radar started pinging.

“Do you need anything else, gentlemen?” Their server asked politely, a bit too insincerely and nervously for John’s liking. John looked across at Jim and shook his head.

“We’re fine, thank you. Could you find a manager, please? The general manager?”

“Oh. Um ... y-yes, sir. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

“I said, we’re fine.” Jim’s voice was soft and hostile and John wondered if they could just for once go somewhere and _not_ get into trouble of some kind. Once their server was out of earshot, John sent a text to Seb to do something about the situation and looked at Jim.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve eaten here, is it?”

“No, but it is the first time I’ve seen our server.  I know every person on staff here by name, aside from him.”

“Whatever you do, _don’t_ drink.” John murmured, pushing his glass aside. “I’d be an idiot if these weren’t drugged.”

“What tipped you off?”

“Just an instinct.” He shrugged and watched a couple of security go after their server. Seb and Douglas, why wasn’t he surprised? He chuckled and wondered if he would start seeing Douglas around when he wasn’t with Jim.

“What?”

“You have to admire Andrew Douglas’s sense of loyalty.” He folded his hands on the tablecloth and smiled at Jim. “He has no problem taking orders from me.”

“Do you think it’s possible he was one of yours in Afghanistan?”

“Might’ve been. I was attached to a couple of units in both the Army and the Marines, being a medic with the RAMC, a doctor, and I tended to get along pretty well with my guys. If he was one of Seb’s, I know I had him.”

“He was, if I recall correctly. Seb was very ... insistent that I hire him to one of the security vacancies.”

“That would probably be it, then. I don’t remember all of the people I served with, so it’s very possible I just don’t remember him.” John shrugged. “And if he was a dog handler in Afghanistan, that _definitely_ explains why Ajax doesn’t mind me. I spent loads of time playing with the working dogs attached to my units during our downtime.”

It didn’t take long for the General Manager to arrive at their table, profusely and sincerely apologetic for any trouble they’d had so far.

“No, actually, I think this time we’ve rather avoided any trouble.” Jim looked up at the man and smiled. “What happened to our server?”

“He’s gone on his break, Mr Moriarty. I’ll be ... giving his tables to our other servers. We’re not terribly busy at the moment, and he hasn’t quite been the most reliable of our workers.”

“Well, that’s fine. I hate to inconvenience anyone on your staff.”

“Oh, no, don’t be that way, Mr Moriarty!” The GM said a bit too quickly, “Why don’t I just get you fresh drinks, then?”

“That would be fine, Mr Sabanis,” Jim said calmly. As soon as Mr Sabanis was out of earshot, John snorted.

“Sure he’s gone on his _break_. What are you willing to bet that the minute they got hands on that prick, Seb and Douglas hustled him out the back door and into an unmarked van?”

“Oh, you know they did.”

“Which is what makes them so bloody good at their jobs when I’m not around to do my part.” John just smiled and carefully took Jim’s hand in his. “That was a bit of excitement.”

“That stayed low-key.” Jim turned his hand over in John’s. When Mr Sabanis returned with their drinks and starters, he didn’t say a word about the two of them holding hands. Jim had lamb kebabs, John got a prawn dish.  And in the spirit of Pub Night, beer was the drink of choice: Guinness for both of them. Dinner turned out beautifully, and just like their two prior lunch-dates, it was time spent chatting, laughing, and teasing each other. It was probably the most fun John had had on a date in a long time, to be honest, and he loved it.

* * *

* * *

 


	6. Criss Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next part of John and Jim's evening out unfolds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of the crossover references with the James Bond franchise. That is all.  
> 

* * *

* * *

By the time the pair of them made it out of Mala, they were tipsy, giggling, and Seb was probably debating the wisdom of unleashing them on the rest of their party.

“So... _where_ are we going?”

“The 1920 Bar, apparently. I hope you boys play pool.” Seb looked over his shoulder at them as he got underway.

“And...how many people are _supposed_ to be there?” John vaguely recalled something about the MI-6 and Met teams showing up, but he really didn’t know how many people that was. He did know that every take-down team usually consisted of eight or nine people, so...eighteen people? That sounded right. Then you had the people in charge: Mycroft, Greg, and...Seb? Yeah, Seb. Three. Then their underlings: probably Anthea, Sally, and...Seb didn’t really have an underling, John was his current lieutenant but he was with Jim. So...two there. Then two for John and Jim.

“Twenty-one.” Seb offered up.

“Ouch.” So he’d miscalculated? To be fair, there had been a _lot_ of people involved last night, and he only knew a few of them at all personally.

“We’ve got ourselves a dedicated space, apparently.” Seb explained. “I have _no_ idea who’s funding this, but if someone else is buying my drinks tonight, I’m game.”

“Doesn’t look like Mycroft’s kind of venue.” Jim was doing something on his phone.

“Greg’s taken me there before.” John shrugged. “It’s not a bad place, actually. Great for unwinding after a long day or long case.”

“You lead, then.” Jim pocketed his phone and under the guise of that motion did something to John. 

“Oi!” John flinched away, grabbing Jim by the wrist. “Bit Not Good!”

“You don’t really mind.”

“I will if you do that again!” He shoved Jim’s hand out of the way. “You sneaky little shit.”

“Your sneaky little shit?” That just got him a charming smile. Jim had snuck his hand under John’s thigh and found out he was rather ticklish right there.

“Git.” He rolled his eyes as Jim smoothly laced their fingers together. “I am not drunk enough for this shit.”

“Are you two even sober?” Seb chimed in from the front seat.

“Yes.” They said in unison.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Seb, you of _all_ people know what I’m like drunk off my rocker.” John sniffed. “This? This is not Drunk John Watson.”

“What’s he like, then?” Jim asked sweetly.

“Well...”

“No! Don’t you fucking _dare_ , Watson!” Seb growled.

“Aw.” Jim looked disappointed, but John just smiled and leaned in close.

“Take everything you know about me and like about me sober?”

“That’s a lot.”

“And multiply that.” He chuckled as Jim suddenly turned bright red. “If you thought I was flirty and charming stone-cold sober, I will happily do everything my alcohol-addled brain can come up with to charm you out of your pants and into my bed by the end of the night.”

“Well, _that_ won’t be very hard.” Jim giggled breathlessly, “You’ve already kind of done that, haven’t you?”

“At _least_ three times!” Seb muttered, they just ignored him. “Horny fuckers.”

“I would say “watch me”, but you’re the only person I’m interested in flirting with tonight.”

“Good, because I am a very jealous bastard.” Jim’s grin was loopy. He wasn’t drunk, not yet, but that would change. John chuckled and slid an arm around Jim’s shoulders as he leaned in for a slightly off-centre kiss.

“Ugh. You two are _disgusting_.” Seb said deadpan.

“Fuck off, Seb.” They sing-songed as they flipped him off. 

“Letting you two spend any time alone together is a monumentally bad idea. I don’t know who’s the worse influence on whom!”

“Both equally?” John just flashed him a sly smirk. 

“Must be! That one’s a fucking giggly teenager with you around! Absolutely shameful!” Seb poked a thumb at Jim, who stuck his tongue out defiantly as the car slowed down. They came to a smooth stop and Seb opened the door for them. They were at the venue, which was pretty unassuming from the outside.

“You boys go inside, I’ll follow in a bit,” Seb said as he got back into the car.

“Thanks, Seb.” John nodded and put an arm around Jim, steering him across the footpath and through the late crowds.

 

Getting in wasn’t too hard, John kept hold of Jim as they made their way through the crowds of people inside the club, and when they got to the front of a short queue, he waited for someone to give them two seconds.

“Can I help you, gents?” A clerk asked 

“Yes, we’re meeting a party here?”

“Sure. What’s the name?” The clerk looked at him expectantly and John narrowed his eyes.

“Uh, Lestrade? Or, um, it might be Holmes.”

“Let’s see...oh, yes! Here it is!” A few keystrokes got a result. “If I could just see a photo-id from you gents please?”

“Here you go.” John handed over his license and Jim’s. At first glance, this seemed like the kind of place Greg’s lot would frequent for a night out, had in the past in fact, but he couldn’t see ex-Special Forces types being very...comfortable here.

 

After checking their licenses against what had to be a guest-list of some kind, the clerk gave them their licenses and wrist-bands for the downstairs bar. Apparently, the entire downstairs space was theirs and the wristbands gave them access to an open bar. Food was being provided as well, so no one would be starving. John and Jim weren’t hungry, they’d eaten beforehand, but he was very interested in partaking of the night’s offerings.

“There’s a bit of a reception going on downstairs if you just want to go on down.” The clerk offered a brief smile and pointed the way for them.

“Thanks.” John headed for the stairs with Jim in tow and looked over his shoulder as a group came in behind them. He didn’t recognize anyone right away, maybe it was some of Mycroft’s people? Seb was with them, so it was definitely part of their larger group.

“Who is it?” Jim whispered as John got a good look at the man talking to Seb.

“Oh, great.” He chuckled, “Come on, I don’t want him making a scene up here.” He gave the man in question a wave.

“Hey! Watson!” He yelled across the venue.

“Come see me downstairs, Trev!” John called back, shaking his head. “Jesus, how did Mycroft get _them_ involved?”

“Get who involved?”

“The team from MI-6 was pretty fucking specific, I wonder what kind of pretty asking Mycroft had to do in order to get any of them to come along for the fun. Or Seb, for _that_ matter, now that I think of it.” John shrugged as they got downstairs to find Mycroft and Greg holding court over part of the Met contingent.

“John! You guys made it!” Greg hopped to his feet from the couch he shared with Mycroft to give John a hug. “Things good today?”

“No one actively tried to kill me, I wasn’t getting shot at, and barring a brief incident at dinner, it’s been...well, mostly quiet.” He chuckled. “So, what’s the deal?”

“Bar’s over there, the food’s over there, we’ve got three American pool tables to use, and...well, if you brought music, we have a player at our disposal.”

“Nice.” He spotted Sally Donovan right away and decided he would go say hi once he’d gotten a drink. The “reception” was basically you picked from a selection of cocktails and said, “that one, please”. He got two Long Island Iced Teas and gave one to Jim before wandering over to Sally Donovan, who was keeping company with a couple of SCO19 blokes.

“Hey, Doctor Watson! Good to see you!”

“Evening, Sergeant Donovan.” He smirked, “Didn’t know you played pool.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re ruining my shot.” She narrowed her eyes. “Move.”

“Pushy pushy.” He rolled his eyes and dutifully stood back as she took her shot. She didn’t scratch, but she didn’t make a lot of progress.

“Ugh!” She tossed her head in disgust, “Damn it, Watson!”

“That was _not_ my fault.” He chuckled and put an arm around her shoulders as one of the blokes took a shot. “Hi, Sally.”

“Hi, John. So, what’s up with those three suddenly getting all buddy-buddy?” She tilted her head a bit. “Those three” was Jim, Mycroft, and Greg, who had their heads together.

“More in common at the precise moment than otherwise, I think. They all had a stake in seeing the Duranichev Family go down hard last night.”

“Yeah, we’ve been after the Silvanovich brothers for months. I couldn’t believe it when he told me we had a shot to get them good and proper, but we had to go now, now, now.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry at all.” John took a sip of his drink and made a face. “Ugh. Beer only after _this_ , thank you.”

“That’s what I said. The drinks aren’t bad, but give me a good brew or a glass of wine _any_ night.”

“You’ll get your drink of choice once we’re all accounted for, I think.” He tugged on the wristband on her wrist. “How long are these things good for?”

“Um, until closing? I think we get the bar for...five hours or something?”

“Jesus Christ. I already had something to drink with dinner, I’ll be blind in the morning!”

“Good thing it’s Saturday, then. And _you_ don’t have to work.” She huffed.

“Oh, just watch. Something good and juicy will come in and we’ll _all_ be cursing our hangovers at a seven-am scene and hating Sherlock for being a cheerful little prick.”

“Boy, he wasn’t in a good mood yesterday, let me tell you what. He was _slightly_ less of a prick this morning, but he was still...” She trailed off. “I guess you didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

“Um, no. He was in a bad mood by the time I got home last night from having a gun put to the back of my head and wrecking out a get-away car to save my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, what exactly went wrong?”

“One of mine turned on us.” He frowned. “Well, one of Seb’s, at any rate. He did not survive long enough to see out the night or see any reward from his treason.”

“Jesus, Watson. Never mind what the blokes from MI-6 would have done, if he’d survived long enough to be taken into custody, I think your boyfriend would have flayed him alive.”

“Probably. We just took a quiet night in at Baker Street instead, ignoring Sherlock on a nasty strop.” John looked up as he heard more voices. “Took me until this morning to get him to talk to me, and it wasn’t until this afternoon that I got the full story.” He was _not_ going to tell anyone, it wasn’t his place and neither Sherlock nor Molly had given him say.

“Was it a _good_ reason?”

“You know he’s dating Molly Hooper?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

“She, um...”

“She kicked him _out_?!”

“Long story really, _really_ short. But honestly, can you blame her?”

“No! It’s not the first time?”

“Nah, but he never takes it well.”

“What boyfriend _does_ , to be fair? I wonder what happened?”

“You’d have to ask them.”

“No thanks.” Sally shook her head.

“Hey, Watson!”

“Jesus Christ. I’m sorry, Sally, can you excuse me?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Sally just smiled and patted him on the shoulder, “Want me to hold your drink?”

“Nah, I’ve got it.” He headed for the MI-6 contingent and downed the remains of his drink before setting the glass down.

“John fucking Watson!” That was all the warning he got before he was almost lifted off his feet. “How the _hell_ have you been?”

“Please put me down, Alec. You know I hate it when people pick me up.” He squirmed and kicked a bit until his feet touched the floor. “Your manners are still atrocious, 006.”

“Why do you look so surprised?”

“Because I was hoping age and experience would mellow you out a little bit. But it seems that was too much to hope for.”

“Aw.”

“And you know bloody well how I’ve been, thank you.”

“Yeah, can’t say I was terribly surprised to show up and find you held at gunpoint, lad.” Alec Trevelyan chuckled, “Seems I can’t leave you alone, can I?”

“I’m an adult, Trevelyan, I can handle myself. You just shut up.”

“Oh, be nice, boys.” Seb got between them, “006, knock it off. Captain, stand down.”

“He started it, sir.”

“I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it.” Seb gave Trevelyan a sharp look. Trevelyan just grinned and went off whistling to see about his first drink.

“So, John, in the interest of full disclosure.”

“Hi, James.” John smiled at James Bond, “And, yes, before you ask.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’ll be damned. How did that happen?”

“I bought him lunch.”

“You bought a criminal mastermind _lunch_ and now you’re dating?”

“I might also have roughed up a couple of thugs on his behalf. And put myself on his private security detail.”

“And stopped a getaway car to save his sorry arse.” Bond shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”

“That’s not news to anyone, is it?” John just shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.

“No, I suppose it’s not.”

“Who’s an idiot?”

“Oh. Hi, Jim.” John chuckled as his...not-boyfriend popped up. “Were your ears burning?”

“Not exactly.” Jim gave a very interested James Bond a once-over. “I just overheard “You’re an idiot” and came to investigate.”

“Oh. Well, that was me.”

“Mhm.” Jim made a soft noise and put an arm around John. “Well, if you are an idiot, you’re _my_ idiot.”

“John Watson is Jim Moriarty’s idiot.” Bond chuckled and looked at the two of them. “Well, take care of Watson for us, Mr Moriarty, he’s...special. Important. Rather good at what he does.”

“I’ve noticed.” Jim’s smile softened a bit. “You should have seen him yesterday.”

“I’ve seen him many times. It’s...a sight to behold.” Bond smiled, “You’re a fortunate man with John Watson at your side, Mr Moriarty. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Mr Bond, but I think we’ll manage.”  

“Are you still good with a cue-stick, Watson?” Bond asked casually.

“I get enough table-time in with the Yarders. Why?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Care for a round later?”

“After you, then, 007!” John chuckled. “I forgot you not only know how to play but enjoy it.”

“That’s your fault.”

“I’m not sorry.” Jim tugged on John in a subtle hint to move on and John held out one hand to Bond. “Later, then?”

“Absolutely.” Bond waved them off, content to chat for a while with the rest of the group. Jim towed John back towards Greg and Mycroft, who had been joined by Seb. He was introduced to the members of the MI-6 contingent he  _didn’t_ know and was a little surprised when the very young man with unruly dark hair that nearly put Sherlock's to shame and grey eyes introduced himself as Benjamin Holmes. It turned out he was Sherlock and Mycroft's baby brother and was with MI-6 in a number of capacities. Currently, he was testing the waters of agency, but his first true love was computers and cyber-security. Then, of course, John was reunited with a former Army buddy of his and was just as surprised to see _him_ as he was to see John.

 

John was in the middle of a pool game with James Bond, Donovan, and a couple of the SO19 lads, when the last of their large party finally arrived. He didn’t see them at first, or at least didn’t pay them any real attention, so when someone tapped him on the shoulder as he watched Donovan line up her shot, it startled him into a jump.

“Oh, Jesus!” He clutched his cue-stick so tight his fingers turned white on the stick.

“Looks like I can still sneak up on you, eh, Hedgehog?” A friendly chuckle was followed by an offered bottle of beer.

“Shit! Archer!”

“Heard you’ve been busy lately, Watson.” The beaming man next to him pushed the bottle into his free hand.

“Oh bullshit if you don’t know what I’ve been up to, Mallory.” He rolled his eyes and took a sip of beer.

“Good to see you, John.”

“Gareth. You look…old.”

“Oh, thanks for that!” Gareth Mallory just chuckled and gave him a sly smile. “Have you up for that sort of back-talk, Captain.” 

“Just you try that, sir.” He took another sip of beer and passed the bottle over to Mallory. “Hold  this, it’s my shot.”

“You let him talk to you like that, sir?” Bond asked mildly, intrigued by the back-and-forth between John and Mallory.

“I knew this one when he was a corporal.”

“How did you meet?” One of the Yarders inquired as John took his shot and stood back from the table to let someone else take a turn. This was all news to them, they knew about his military service but not precisely what it had entailed.

“Ran into him on a recce once, there’s this short blond bloke wearing Army kit with our flag and a cross on his sleeves, has a rifle across his back and a Browning in hand as he gets to us.” Mallory chuckled and put an arm around John’s shoulder, “Feisty shit, he was, but he had a good heart. Knew he’d go on to do better, bigger things if we just gave ‘im half a decent shot.”

“Did he?”

“Well, when it came my way through channels that this one had decided he wanted to do something bigger with himself, I just smiled.”

“What was his idea of “something bigger”?”

“Going to medical school.”

“Well done, Watson.”

“It wasn’t such a stretch from medic to doctor, and the Army paid for it, so…” He shrugged. “You can blame Archer for putting that spark to a proper flame if you want to point fingers.”

“Oh it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“The way I found you? Yes it was.” John rolled his eyes. “You’re the one it _happened_ to, anyway!”

“Well, when you put it _that_ way.” Mallory’s smile dimmed a little, his grip on John’s shoulder tightened. “At any rate, is there room for another at the table?”

“Next game? Absolutely. Get yourself a cue-stick and we’ll let you win a round or two.” He said lightly as he took his shot. Mallory, in a fit of friendly spite, tapped his stick at the last minute and he skewed the shot.

“Oh, god damn it, Archer!”

“What are you going to do about it, then?”

“Fuck you, Archer.” He took his drink back and slammed half of it back in a single go. “Wanker.” The others at their table snickered and rolled their eyes.

“Why do you call him Archer?”

“Because that was his nickname when I knew him. He was SAS, I was AMS, it’s kind of amazing I had anything to do with him at all.”

“Did you have a nickname?”

“I had a couple. But Mallory’s lot all called me Hedgehog.” John smirked around a sip of beer. “That one stuck, God knows how hard I tried to buck it.”

“Hmm. I _wonder_ why.” Bond said slyly.

“Oi, don’t you start, 007. I can make it look like an accident, you know?”

“Oh, you don’t mean that.” Bond just waggled his fingers cheerfully and John snorted.

It was a good start to the social portion of the evening. A few hours to unwind, chat with friends and associates, drink at their leisure, eat if and when they were hungry enough to do so, and play a bit of pool if the fancy took them. John could definitely think of worse ways to spend an evening after a long day at work.

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of research I did to line up when John Watson would have POSSIBLY been deployed to Northern Ireland that he might have had anything to do with the SAS, and Gareth Mallory in particular, is a little maddening. But I think I made it work? Operation Banner was an active military operation from 1967 to 2007, so I played a bit with timelines.


	7. Atmosphere: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go house-hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin. Part 1 of 2.

* * *

* * *

In the aftermath of taking out a local cell of the Russian Mafia, John found things were very different at Baker Street. He and Sherlock got along just as they had immediately after The Great Game, but this time things didn’t seem to re-settle as they had before. John noticed small things changing around the house, things disappearing and other things replacing them. None of _his_ things, of course, but things he had pestered Sherlock about in the past. Chemistry sets were replaced with baby toys, case-files shared space with a small, growing library of children’s books, a swing-seat appeared in the sitting-room next to John’s chair, and Sherlock spent hours on his violin composing and recording lullabies for the baby. John got to enjoy the fruits of those labours for himself and didn’t really mind the noise. Music was _not_ noise, not when played properly. Needless to say, life at Baker Street was rarely ever boring.

 

A venture into the basement one day when he found the door to 221C unlocked revealed where everything missing from 221B had gone. Sherlock had apparently spoken to the proper authorities (to Mycroft), and they were refinishing 221C as a work-space for Sherlock to do his experiments and, potentially, see his clients. That would dedicate 221B to a family home.

“I can get behind this change!” John said after touring the new space. It wasn’t finished by any means, but it would be soon. “So, all of your awful experiments come down here?”

“Every single one. Molly said I’m allowed to keep doing them, but they have to be far away from the baby.”

“Smart woman. You’re a lucky bastard, Sherlock.” John just smiled. Sherlock did not, he just looked worried.

“What if I’m not cut out for parenting, John? What if I’m a terrible father?”

“You _won’t_ be. You’ll be great.” He patted Sherlock on the shoulder, “You’ll be fine, and the minute you get to hold that little one, it’ll be the best moment of your life.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now, come on. Greg stopped by earlier with another box of cases.”

“He did?” That got Sherlock to brighten up and John chuckled, steering his friend towards the stairs.

“Yes, he did. And Molly asked me to come get you before you forgot to come back upstairs.”

“I wouldn’t forget, John.”

“She’s texted you six times in thirty minutes, you’ve not exactly been speedy responding to any of them.” He just gave Sherlock a raised eyebrow. “It’s not a bleeding phone-call, Sherlock, answer your text messages.”

“Oh.” Sherlock looked at his phone, “Oh, look at that.”

“Read them later.” He said. “Jim’s stopping by in a bit, by the way.”

“Oh, he is?”

“Mhm. Said he’s…kidnapping me?”

“Again?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “What is it _this_ time?”

“He won’t say. And I’ve asked everyone who _might_ know. Seb’s useless and even your brother’s keeping his mouth shut.” Which annoyed John very much. Sherlock knew this annoyed him and smirked.

“Oh, you love it. You wouldn’t have stayed if you didn’t.”

 “So what?”

“I think it’s great. A little surprise never hurt a body.”

“Yeah, except your idea of a surprise and his are bloody similar. I can do without the smoke and mirrors. He _knows_ that, too.”

“He likes to keep things interesting.” Sherlock headed upstairs and they went back up to 221B, leaving the workmen to their tasks in C. Stepping into the sitting-room, John headed straight for the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. He took in what he could see and sighed, folding his arms across his chest.

“Doctor Hooper?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?” He kept his voice level, “Get down from there before you hurt yourself.”

“I’m not…going to hurt myself, Doctor Watson.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” He shook his head and went to help Molly Hooper, who was reaching for a high shelf. “What are you looking for?”

“There’s chamomile tea in the back of the shelf. I think Sherlock hid it again.”

“Let me get that, sweetie. How did you even get up there?” He carefully moved the stool and looked over his shoulder. “Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?”

“Come get your fiancée for me before she falls off the counter again?”

“Coming.” Sherlock appeared in a heartbeat and deftly lifted Molly from her precarious perch, swinging her into his arms like she weighed nothing. “There, now, what are you doing in here? You’re supposed to be _resting_ , not reorganizing the bloody kitchen.”

“I have room to reorganize! And I’m _fine_ , you pair of worrywarts!” Molly gave them a withering glare from Sherlock’s arms, but they just traded a look and rolled their eyes.

“I’ll get the tea on, then.” John hopped up on the counter and dug around for the errant box of tea.

“Oi! Why does he get to do that but I’m not allowed to?!” Molly voiced her objection when she caught him up there.

“I’m not five and a half months pregnant, my dear!” He called back as he found the box of vanilla chamomile tea Mrs Hudson had gifted to Molly when it was revealed that she was pregnant and the baby was Sherlock’s. All that got him was some muttering, but he didn’t mind. Hopping down again, he got the kettle on for tea and collected cups, putting one bag of the chamomile in Molly’s cup and one each of Earl Grey in the other three cups. Jim was coming over, and he would have time for tea. He would _make_ time for tea. As the water boiled, he looked for biscuits. He knew they should have a few, if Sherlock and Molly hadn’t eaten all of them. If _Jim_ hadn’t eaten all of them, for that matter. His boyfriend had an atrocious sweet-tooth that nearly rivalled Sherlock’s.

 

The tea was ready at the same moment Jim arrived and John discovered the empty biscuit tin. Rolling his eyes, he carried the tray out to the sitting room and put it on the coffee table.

“Alright, which one of you three ate the last of the biscuits?” He asked, holding up the empty tin. Without missing a beat, Jim and Sherlock both pointed at Molly, who was very interested in her tea.

“I figured it might be you, Molls.” John chuckled and put the tin aside, taking his cup and finding a place to sit. “That’s fine, you need the calories.”

“Eating for two, y’know.” She mumbled, cheeks pink at being caught out.

“When you _remember_ to eat.” He took a sip of tea and gave her a look, causing her cheeks to redden a bit more.

“Oh, leave her alone, Johnny. She’s fine.” Jim scolded. “Look at her, she’s beautiful.”

“Of course she is.” John looked over at his boyfriend, who regarded Molly with a soft gaze. Their relationship was a thing of the distant past, but they were still friends. For all that Molly had dumped Jim for Sherlock, they got along very well and Molly had actually said that she was very happy Jim had someone like John to be in his life. John had told her to call or stop by any time she wanted to unload, they could share grievances about their genius significant others. There had been a few venting sessions since it had come to light that she was pregnant with Sherlock’s child and John was dating her ex-boyfriend.

“Woo-hoo!” Mrs Hudson’s standard hail from the landing got their attention. “Just me, dearies!”

“Hello, Mrs Hudson.” John went to hold the door for their landlady, an unnecessary but appreciated gesture. She had a tray in both hands, covered.

“What’ve you got there, then?”

“Biscuits! I figured you lot could use a few! These are fresh out of the oven just a minute ago!”

“Oh, God bless you, Mrs Hudson!” Jim was on his feet in a flash and taking the tray to put it on the coffee table. “Are these your marvellous chocolate biscuits?”

“There’s some of those in there, just for you, Jim dear. And some of my Snickerdoodles.”

“With ginger?”

“Always.” Mrs Hudson just smiled as she patted Jim on the cheek. “You’re a good one, Jim Moriarty.”

“Thank you, Mrs Hudson. You’re very kind.” Jim blushed as he kissed Mrs Hudson on the cheek after snagging a couple of biscuits.

“So, what are you boys up to this afternoon?” She asked once they were all settled with tea and biscuits.

“You’d have to ask him,” John poked a thumb at Jim, who made a face at him, “but he probably wouldn’t tell you anything useful.”

“Oh, another kidnapping, is it?” Mrs Hudson’s eyes just sparkled and she smiled like she knew a great big secret.

“Something like that.”

“Well, you just enjoy yourselves and be smart about things.”

“Yes, Mrs Hudson.” They said in unison.

After tea had been drunk and biscuits consumed, John took his cup and Jim’s back to the kitchen and rinsed them out. Setting them on the drying rack for later, he dried his hands and looked around. Jim came in to get him, John’s coat in one hand

“What’s wrong?” Jim was smart, he saw what John kept from everyone else. Sherlock did, too, but he had learned not to bring it up.

“Nothing.” He shrugged.

“Hmm.”

“I didn’t say you had to believe me, did I?” John rolled his eyes as he checked his pockets for his wallet and phone. Wallet in back right pocket, phone in back left, and… “Ah, gotta run upstairs for a mo.”

“I’ll wait downstairs.” Jim just smiled and kissed him before sending him upstairs. John ran up to his room and fetched his gun. He never left the house without it, and it was kept in a biometric gun-safe or a conceal-carry holster when he was home. Fetching his gun out of the safe, he tucked it into the holster and tugged his jumper and coat over the butt. Closing the safe, John headed back downstairs. He stopped in to say goodbye to Molly and Sherlock and Mrs Hudson. John was happy to consider Molly one of his dearest friends, he didn’t have many friends in the first place and the few he did were kept close. It had started the day she came to see him because she wanted a doctor she _trusted_ and, for some reason, she trusted him and he had taken her on as a regular patient for the remainder of her pregnancy. They had been friends before, more like casual acquaintances, but they had far more in common these days than previously.

 

He double-checked for his keys as he looked out the window. Jim waited on the street, leaning casually against the side of a blue BMW sports car. John wasn’t all that savvy when it came to sports cars, but that was a damn nice-looking car.

“John?”

“Sherlock, what car is that?” He looked at Sherlock, “I know it’s a BMW, I just don’t know which model.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock looked over John’s shoulder and deduced everything about the car. “Well, that’s a 2010 BMW Z4 convertible, to be precise, single owner, purchased brand new and kept in a garage for most of its life. He doesn’t drive it very often, Seb does most of the driving that’s necessary, but it’s his.”

“Wow.” He raised an eyebrow. “Wonder what the occasion is?”

“You’ll find out.” Sherlock smiled, following him to the door and out to the landing. “Keys?”

“Check.”

“Wallet?”

“Check.”

“Phone?”

“Check.” He pulled it from his pocket to show Sherlock, “Text if something comes up.”

“I always do.” Sherlock just smiled. “And, do you have your gun?”

“Check.”

“Go have fun, but don’t do anything stupid.”

“I promise nothing.”

“Well, at the very least refrain from any illegal activities.”

“That I can handle.” John chuckled and headed down the stairs at a trot. “Bye, Sherlock!”

“Goodbye, John!” Sherlock stood at the top of the stairs and watched him disappear, moving from the landing to the window in the time it took John to get from the stairs to the front door and out onto the street. He was sure to lock up after himself and crossed the footpath to Jim, waving over his shoulder to Sherlock, who waited by the window.

“Took you long enough!” Jim teased. “Getting slow in your old age there?”

“Oh, shut up.” John rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “So, what’s the occasion? Nice car you’ve got, I’ve never seen it before.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Sherlock did. A Z4, he said, new when you bought it.”

“He’d be right about that.”

“Also said you don’t drive it very often, it lives in a garage most of the time.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“She’s awful clean for a London car.” He reached out but refrained from touching the immaculate metallic blue paint.

“Well, get in. Let me take you for a ride.” Jim stepped aside and held the door for John with a charming, dangerous smile. “Captain?”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see!”

“I hate it when you say that.” John sighed and dutifully ducked into the car. “Ooh, this is _nice_ , Jim! I like this!”

“Knew you’d like it!” Jim just closed the door and came around on the other side.

“Jim, the last time you said “You’ll see!” in that exact same tone of voice, I was in Paris three hours later and gone for a fucking week,” John recalled that particular last-minute trip with some enjoyment. “Sherlock got so freaked out he called the cops on us!”

“And that’s when we learned that Greg Lestrade has family in Paris and a cousin on the local force.” Jim’s smile turned into laughter. “Well, I’m sorry to say that this outing isn’t _quite_ that exciting.”

“No foreign countries this time?”

“Mm, no. Sorry.”

“Well, that’s fine.” John just smiled and leaned back against the soft leather of the seat as they got underway. “I’m okay with a low-key kidnapping every now and then.” He wasn’t alone very _long_ , of course. Tinker Bell scrambled from the back seat to sit in his lap so she could look out the window from there.

“Oi, what are you doing, you brat?” He scolded.

“You know you don’t mind,” Jim said cheerfully.

“No, but I’m not a viewing platform, thank you.” John rolled his eyes and put one hand under Tink’s tiny body to hold her still so she wouldn’t get hurt as she got up on her back legs and put her front paws on the armrest, bracing herself for a view of the city as they made their way through London’s traffic patterns. She did it every time they drove somewhere, it was routine. She couldn’t sit in Jim’s lap right now, and it was too dangerous for her to sit on the dashboard, so resorting to her usual perch in John’s lap was a reasonable choice.  

 

The Z4 had an incredible engine, and John wondered what it would be like to drive her on open roads. Just the brief drive from Baker Street to their destination was exciting.

“So, where are we going?” He asked.

“Where are we going? Fulham.” Jim gave him that sly smile, “Where precisely? Not telling. Or why.”

“You, Jim Moriarty, are impossible.”

“Fairly certain I’m _your_ impossible, sir.”

“Good.” John reached across the console and took Jim’s hand. “You’d better be, I’m a terribly selfish prick and I don’t like sharing.”

“Neither do I.” Jim just winked at him and made another turn.

***

When they finally reached their destination, John looked around to get an idea of where they were as Jim raised the roof into position. Better safe than sorry.

“What about this little pest?” He gave Tinker Bell’s fur a ruffle. “Is she coming with?”

“Absolutely! Out you go!” Jim opened the door for him with a bit of flourish and John held onto Tinker Bell while he looked around.

“Oh. Are we in Fulham?”

“Mhm.”

They didn’t _know_ anyone who lived in Fulham. Harry lived in Islington, and they weren’t exactly on speaking terms right now, so obviously not family. And their mutual acquaintances were fairly centralized in an area of approximately sixty klicks square, so that zeroed out the likes of Mycroft or Greg or Molly. Who was in the process of moving over from her old place in Whitechapel and into Baker Street anyway, and John was…well, slowly moving his things _out_ as Molly moved in and they made more progress on the basement.

 

John suddenly knew _exactly_ what they were doing in Fulham and looked over the car at his boyfriend. Jim just gave him that smile of his and held out one hand in invitation. Shaking his head, John went around the car to take Jim’s hand. It was a quiet, pleasant walk to wherever they were actually going, John knew better than to push for answers. And if anyone thought twice about the couple walking down the street hand-in-hand with their little Pom ankle-biter on a leash, they kept it to themselves.

“Where are we?” He asked when they finally stopped.

“Francis James Residential.”

“What on earth are we doing _here_?” Not that he had any complaints, but he was rather curious.

“House-hunting.”

“House-hunting?”

“Yep. Need enough room for four adults and a few dogs, but not more than that.”

“Well, after you then!”

“Come on, you.” Jim led the way across the footpath and held the door for him.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” The receptionist seated behind a small but adequate desk greeted them cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

“I was here earlier to speak with Mr Spengler, is he around?”

“Yes, sir. What’s the name?”

My name is Moriarty. J. Moriarty.” Jim was all business now, that subtly threatening persona people knew him for coming out a bit.

“Oh! O-of course, Mr Moriarty!” Oh, boy did the man’s eyes get wide as he found Jim’s name in their logs. “Just a minute, I’ll…just page him and let him know you’re back. Please take a seat, gentlemen!”

“Thank you, Jeffrey.” Jim took a seat and invited John to join him.

“Bit Not Good.” He murmured as the receptionist placed a call.

“Hmm?” Jim looked at him innocently, knowing damn well what he was talking about.

“You can be nice to the underlings, Jim, it’s not going to kill you.”

“But it’s fun to watch them cower.”Jim grinned, all mischief, “You’re smiling, don’t act all saintly.”

“I never said I was. And I should not enjoy watching people realize exactly who you are when we’re out in public quite as much as I do.” John chuckled and set Tinker Bell on the floor. “Don’t wander too far, Princess.” He warned as she sniffed around a bit.

“Mm. I know how much you enjoy it, Johnny.” Jim winked at him, glancing suggestively at John’s lap. “I know how much you love it.”

“Bit Not Good, Jim. Public places, remember?” He subtly crossed his legs. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Aw, you love me.”

“Do I?” He gave his boyfriend a sideways glance. “Do I really?” Jim just blew him a kiss for that. John rolled his eyes. Sometimes he questioned his life-choices, specifically dating Jim Moriarty, but John knew he would never change the way things were now, and trying to go back to life the way it had been before would be…disastrous. He loved Jim and loved being able to take care of him as he did. Even Seb admitted that Jim had never smiled or laughed as much as he had since John had entered the equation.

 

After a while, John heard a familiar jingling sound and raised his head a bit to see a massive German Shepherd come into view from a back room. Tinker Bell, of course, had no problem going to say hello, and John watched warily. She had a nasty habit of underestimating just how _tiny_ she was sometimes and also just how friendly a bigger dog might or might not be.

“Jim?”

“She’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Jim was looking at something on his phone, not even paying attention. John didn’t quite believe him and kept an eye on the dogs. The Shepherd didn’t seem to have much of a problem with Tinker Bell, and after a friendly exchange of sniffing, came to greet the humans.

“Hello, Damian.” Jim reached out to give the dog a quick pet. “Where is your master?”

“The dog’s name is Damian?” John asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Mhm.”

“Oh. Well, hello, Damian.” John turned to Damian, who had decided to give him a bit of a sniff. “You’re a handsome boy. I’m afraid if I go home smelling like a different dog, Ajax might be very put out with me. He can be so very jealous.”

“Especially about _you_.” Jim glanced up at John, his eyes sparkling. Something else in the room got his attention and he pocketed his phone, rising smoothly to his feet in a gesture that reminded John a bit of a feline rising to stalk prey.

“Ah, Mr Spengler, good to see you again.”

“Mr Moriarty, a pleasure, sir. No troubles to get here, I hope?” The man shaking hands with Jim was in his fifties, about Greg’s height but his hair wasn’t nearly as grey as the DI’s. John didn’t think that was natural. He could _see_ that it wasn’t, in fact, never mind the bloke’s complexion. Typical of a salesman, too carefully groomed, too…informal, despite addressing Jim as “Mr Moriarty”. He had very likely been in the business long enough to have seen nearly everything when it came to clients, and yet John couldn’t help but notice the small signs that he was treating Jim very, _very_ carefully. Typically anxious, as people generally were when in close proximity to Jim.

“No, no troubles. A bit of a hold-up over on Baker Street, but no trouble.” Jim said with a practised, tight smile. John had gotten to his feet and stepped up to Jim’s side, one hand resting on his lower back. Jim relaxed imperceptibly, the estate agent didn't notice but John felt it.

“Mr Spengler, allow me to introduce you to my boyfriend, John Watson.”

“Oh, a pleasure to meet you, uh, Mr Watson! Amos Spengler.” Spengler held out one hand to John, smiling. John felt Jim prickle at the lack of title and knew he had to speak up before Jim blew it out of proportion and this went south very quickly.

“It’s Doctor Watson, actually.” He took Spengler’s hand. “But it’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” The man’s eyes widened in horror at an honest mistake.

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t know.” He gave the estate-agent a kind smile, the one that usually worked to put people at ease.

“Well, if you two will just follow me, we can get the paperwork bit out of the way and smooth out some of the details!”

“Of course.” Jim’s tone was what John called “business-bored”, when he was being nice but would rather not. They followed Spengler to a nearby office and took the client’s chairs when he told them to sit down.

“So, I just had a few questions for you gents.” Spengler pulled up his computer and opened a browser window. “First, and this is very important, what is your budget?”

“No budget,” Jim said nonchalantly as the dogs trailed in.

“Sorry?” Spengler stared at them in shock. John rolled his eyes.

“He doesn’t have a budget, but _I_ do.” He looked at Jim sharply.

“Oh, come _on_ , Johnny!” Jim whined, just like John had known he would. He shook his head briefly.

 

They had talked about this in the past when the subject of John moving out of Baker Street came up in conversation and had had this very same argument. Jim didn’t see any reason to have a home-buying budget, figuring any house worth buying would be worth its price-tag, but John had learned that sometimes it was a good idea to limit just how much money Jim could spend on something. And he knew if it was left up to Jim, they’d end up living in a bloody mansion. Not that he had any _problem_ with that, but it wasn’t very practical.

“Er, what budget did you have in mind then, Doctor Watson?”

“One and a half mil, two and a half max. For the right house.”

“Right then. And, are you looking to buy or rent?”

“Buy.” John had no problem answering that question himself. “We’re not looking to rent anything right now, we want somewhere...permanent to live.”

“Excellent. And, uh, what are you _looking_ for in particular? What features?”

“Well, we need room for at least four people, so...”

“Three bedrooms?” Jim pitched in, still a little sullen that John had given him a budget.

“At least. A full kitchen, for sure.”

“Because _you_ can cook.” A bit of a smile. “It would be nice to have a kitchen we can actually use for it’s intended purpose, hey?”

“Give Sherlock credit, he hasn’t done anything stupid with the kitchen in a while.” John grinned.

“Hm, that’s true.”

“So, you want three bedrooms, a kitchen, so...eat-in kitchen?” Spengler was at work on his keyboard.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

“And a back garden.”

“Of course.”

“For a couple of dogs.” He looked over and down at Tinker Bell, who was playing with Damian. “Two at the moment, might have more in the future.”

“Excellent. So you’re dog-people are you?”

“Absolutely!” He smiled, “And they seem to know it, too. Well, most of them know it. Tinker Bell wasn’t very certain of me the first time we met.”

“You seem like a dog-person, Doctor Watson. Damian certainly doesn’t mind you at all.”

“Germans especially are drawn to John, haven’t quite figured out why.” Jim said calmly, leaning back in the chair in a casually intimidating way, “One of my security-dogs is quite loyal to him.”

“What is it, precisely, that you do, Mr Moriarty?” Spengler asked a bit faintly, the mention of security dogs had kind of surprised him.

“Oh, I’m a consulting...”He grunted as John cut him off with an elbow to the ribs.

“Business consultant, actually.” He recovered, shooting Jim a look.

“Oh. Doing...what?”

“A bit of everything, really.” Jim said casually, “I dabble primarily in venture capital investments and information technology.”

“Oh, I see.” An owlish blinking proved that he didn’t quite, but that was no matter. They couldn’t very well come out and tell him what Jim _actually_ did for a living.

“So, let me make sure I have your reqs down right.” Spengler steered the conversation away from the forbidden. “You’re looking to buy, you want three bedrooms, an eat-in kitchen, and a back garden, with room for pets?”

“That’s correct. And on-street or off-street parking is an absolute _must_ , for at least two cars.” John was thinking they could park the Jag and the Rover at the house, or maybe the Z40 and one of the other cars.

“And what sort of houses are you considering?”

“Terraced or semi-detached would be acceptable. But we are not against a townhouse or mews house if it fulfils our requirements.”

“And which areas of town were you thinking of looking at?”

“Fulham, Marylebone, The City, and Clapham.”

“Alright, then. Let me just...do one thing here.” Spengler was once against at his keyboard, focused completely on what he was doing.  John checked his watch and sighed. It was barely past noon, but it felt later than that for some reason. Five minutes later, Spengler had a handful of computer print-outs and their first destination. He offered to do the driving, but Jim was notoriously fussy about who was behind the wheel of the car he was in and declined the offer. John rolled his eyes and followed Jim back to the car. Spengler drove lead, they followed Spengler, and a familiar black Rover followed _them_. Of course Seb and Douglas weren’t leaving them alone long enough to sneeze. John just rolled his eyes and debated putting his feet on the dashboard. He didn’t think Jim would like that, but he thought about it.

 

Their first stop was somewhere in Kingston Vale, a charming four-bedroom detached house with quite a bit of space and more rear garden than they had expected that was well within budget. But it was too far away for John’s tastes, he preferred to be just a bit closer to Central London. He didn’t exactly feel like driving an hour and a half round-trip if Sherlock needed him, and it was easily forty-five minutes either way from the house on Keswick Avenue. So, that was a no, despite its many favourable features, which included but were not limited to: it’s massive rear garden, off-street parking, and four spacious bedrooms over two floors were a few. But it wasn’t enough to entice John.

 

Next was a house in Clapham on Park Hill. Another four-bedroom, this time a semi-detached/terraced house, again with ample living space, this one had an eat-in kitchen and an adequate rear-garden, and there was on-street permit parking good between 10 am and Noon Monday through Friday. That wasn’t good enough to satisfy their parking requirement, and the yard, despite being adequate, was a little too cramped for a dog like Ajax and any other dog they would bring into the family. John felt that if the front garden were better managed, it might be lovely, but it just had an unkempt, overgrown feel to it and he didn’t like that. Which made that house another no.

“Well, gents, shall we?” Spengler asked as they stood on the footpath just outside the gate.

“After you, Mr Spengler,” Jim said a little tightly. They were only looking at four houses today and so far, it was two for two. “Where are we going next?”

“Actually, we can walk there, if you boys don’t mind a bit of a jaunt?”

“Not at all.” John spied Seb coming their way. “Where to?”

“Uh, just this way, if you please.” Spengler indicated the proper direction and John smoothly passed off Tinker Bell’s lead to Seb, who scooped the tiny dog into his arms and did a beautiful about-face like this was something he did all the time. And really, it kind of was. Spengler very wisely refrained from saying anything as he led them to the next house two streets away.

 

House #3 was a Victorian terraced house on Crescent Lane. The home had been meticulously kept up and many of its original features were intact even as it had been updated and the original features were both practical and charming. One of his favourite features was actually the front entrance hall, which was done with an absolutely gorgeous coloured parquet mosaic, and the front door with its character stained-glass panels. There were three stories, four bedrooms, and two bathrooms with the master bedroom suite up on the second floor. The house also benefited from a double-reception, a separate kitchen and dining, and very lovely and spacious back garden with a patio and grass while the front garden had been turned into a sort of paved patio-space. Overall, it had more of the _feel_ John had wanted in a house. It had the same parking scheme as the house on Park Hill, but John was willing to endure limited on-street parking for this one. He could tell that Jim also liked the Crescent Lane house and looked over the notes he’d written down in his field-notebook. He wrote down the street-number for future reference, suspecting this house was on their list of top choices.

 

House #4, and their last stop of the afternoon, was another Clapham address. 27 Marney Road was quite pretty, very spacious, and had a separate eat-in kitchen leading to a west-facing garden. An en-suite master bedroom complete with dressing room as well as another good sized double bedroom and a bathroom were up on the first floor, with two further en-suite double bedrooms on the second floor. It was a nice house, but he wasn’t very happy with the small, paved rear garden. It was almost the same size as the master en-suite, and there was no grass. It did, however, offer dedicated permit parking from 9.30 am to 5.30 pm, and Clapham Common was an eight-minute walk just to the south of them. Having the green space so nearby made up a bit for the lack of a really proper garden, but that _was_ one of their must-haves. Parking was a flexible item, a proper back garden was not. After they had seen the whole of the house, Jim asked for a moment alone with John and they stepped into the kitchen to talk.

“What do you think of the place?” John asked, leaning against the kitchen island. “I didn’t get quite the same feel here that I got when we were in Crescent Lane, but my only real concern is the garden in the back.”

“No grass.”

“No grass. _But_ , Clapham Common is walking-distance of less than ten minutes, I can deal with that. And the parking is a little easier to stomach.”

“You just like the dedicated hours.”                                                                                                  

“Absolutely.” He sighed, thinking that house-hunting was harder than it looked.

“What else?”

“Well, we’ve only seen four houses, and out of those four, we’ve only liked _one_ enough to put it on the list.”

“Do you _like_ this house, John?”

“Yeah, I…kind of do.”

“I say put it on the list.” Jim took his hand, “I can tell you like this house enough to consider it. Put it on the list.”

“Okay.” He handed Jim the notebook and let him write down the address and such.

“Alright. Now, let’s go thank Mr Spengler and go home.”

“Okay.” John just smiled. “Start again tomorrow with another four houses?”

“Until we find one we really honestly like enough to move into.”

“Hopefully sooner than later.” He followed Jim out of the kitchen. They met Spengler out on the street and after he had locked up the house, asked if they had any questions.

“No, I think we’d like to go home and sit on our two choices.”

“Of course, Mr Moriarty.” Mr Spengler just nodded and offered one hand. “I’ll see you gentlemen tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, of course.”

“10 o’clock? No one in our house is really awake much before then.” John was up well before then, but he wasn’t really in a rush to go look at more houses, as badly as they needed to find one.

“Absolutely. I’ll meet you two at the office, then. 10 o’clock sharp.”

“Excellent. Until tomorrow.” John and Jim shook hands with the real estate agent and got into their car.

***

It was a quiet drive back to Baker Street, but even John knew Jim was stewing about _something_.

“Alright, what is it?”

“What’s what?”

“I know that body-language.” He raised an eyebrow. “What’s got you all fussed?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I’m _fine_.”

“No, you’re not. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”

“Why?”

“Because you usually do something stupid when you get stroppy. I’d send you to the kickboxing club with Seb if I thought that would do you any good.”

“I don’t like being treated like an idiot.” Ah, he wanted to talk, apparently.

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t on purpose, love. Considering you scared the man’s secretary before we ever got to him.” John just smiled. “Not that I minded, by the way.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Jim rolled his eyes at that. “But, why did he take us all the way down to fucking Kingston Vale? That wasn’t anywhere _close_ to where we want to live!” And there it was.

“Well, you have to admit, it _was_ a nice house.”

“In Kingston Vale! That’s eleven miles from anything!”

“I thought I was the only one who had a problem with the distance and commute.”

“No you bloody well were _not_ the only one who had a problem with the fucking commute!” Jim snapped.

“To be fair to Mr Spengler, you weren’t exactly dressed in your “Mr Moriarty” get-up today.” John knew what the genesis of this was, and studied his boyfriend. “Trousers, button-down, and a waistcoat don’t quite send the same message that a Westwood does.”

“Hmm. You know, I think you’re right?” He watched brown eyes narrow. “Well, that’s it, then. Tomorrow, Westwood.”

“Oh, this should be worth the price of admission.” John chuckled, shaking his head. “But really, please don’t do anything stupid?”

“I promise nothing.”

“Don’t kill anyone.”

“What if they deserve it?”

“No.

“Please?”

“NO!”

“Please, John?”

“Oh, fine. But not in public.” He rolled his eyes. “Try to refrain from doing anything that might require bail-money or a favour from Mycroft Holmes.”

“Oh, you’re no fun!”

“I’m plenty of fun, you bastard, and I’ll prove it given half a chance in the bedroom!” He said, feigning indignation.

“Challenge accepted, Captain Watson.” Jim’s eyes were glowing and John sighed. Emotional whiplash was very much a thing and he was just kind of…used to it now. That was probably not a good thing, but it was part of living with Jim. Just like it was part of living with Sherlock. John had no complaints, he really didn’t, and it could be worse. He could be in a relationship with someone who didn’t love or understand him the way Jim did. He could be living in some little shit-hole closet like his old bedsit instead of worrying about finding somewhere to make a home with Jim so Sherlock and Molly could start their own family at Baker Street without having to worry about him fitting into the changing dynamic. It was a good way to have things, in his opinion.

* * *

* * *

 


	8. Atmosphere: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go house-hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin. Part 2 of 2.

* * *

* * *

When they got back to Baker Street, Molly had dinner ready and told them to wash up and sit down. Sherlock deduced everything about their afternoon of house-hunting and offered to do some cross-checking of his own for them. They took him up on the offer, of course, and knew he would be up all night on the case. That was fine, it kept him occupied and made him feel included. There were so many changes happening on Baker Street and John was moving out, so it was important to make sure Sherlock knew he wasn’t getting cut out of John’s life completely because of the move. And letting him help out with house-hunting was one way to keep him involved.

“Kingston Vale? Why on earth did he take you all the way down _there_?” Sherlock made a face when they told him about their first stop. “That’s nowhere close to Central London!”

“Which is why we turned it down.” Jim shrugged, taking a sip of his tea. They had finished dinner, John had done the wash-up, and were gathered in the sitting-room with tea and some of Mrs Hudson’s biscuits.

“Not only was it nowhere near Central London, or Baker Street, but it wasn’t even in any of the places we’re interested in living.” John shook his head. “I have no idea why he thought we would be interested in living in Kingston Vale.”

“But you _have_ put two of the three houses you viewed in Clapham on your list of potentials.”

“Yep. The Crescent Lane house and the Marney Road house. They’re both strong contenders, but two out of four isn’t very good.”

“Better than one out of four, though,” Jim said. He had a point.

“Are you going to look at more houses, then?” Molly asked.

“Yes. And we’ll look until we find something that suits our needs.”

“I can only imagine your list of requirements for a house.” Sherlock grinned. “What _are_ your requirements for a house?”

“Room for four people, a few dogs, eat-in kitchen, good-sized garden out back, dedicated parking either on-street or off-street for at least two cars, and within thirty minutes’ drive of Baker Street.” Jim addressed his teacup. “A longer transit commute is perfectly acceptable, but anything longer than thirty minutes by car is not.”

“Why thirty minutes?”

“That’s as long as I’m willing to drive to get here, or pretty much anywhere else in London to meet you.” John took the empty cups to the kitchen for wash-up. “That house in Kingston Vale was at least forty minutes in either direction just to reach Baker Street. No thank you.”

“And you hate driving anyway, so.”

“You _know_ why I hate driving.” He looked over his shoulder, “But honestly, can you blame me?”

“You may hate driving, Johnny, but you’re damn good at defensive driving.” Jim wandered into the kitchen.

“When the occasion calls for it.” John shrugged.

 

When he was done with the wash-up and had returned the plates and cups to their usual places, John turned from the sink, drying his hands on the dish-cloth over one shoulder, looking around the kitchen. It was so strange to see the kitchen being used for its purpose, there was no sign of Sherlock’s experiments which had either been discarded or moved to Saint Bart’s. He smiled and imagined Sherlock working on cases while Molly fixed a meal in the kitchen and their baby playing in the swing-seat or in the Pack-N-Play.

“What’s on your mind?” Jim raised an eyebrow as he handed over John’s coat. It was time to go home for the night.

“Just thinking.” He shook his head and smiled a bit, “If there’s one thing I never would have seen for Sherlock Holmes, it was settling down and having a family.”

“And here he is doing just that?”

“But he’s not giving up anything that _makes_ him Sherlock Holmes, he’s … adapting,” John said as he shrugged into his coat. “I don’t mind the maturity, of course, don’t get me wrong.”

“This is a gentle way for Sherlock to mature.” Jim just watched him, already set to take leave as soon as John was done with the wash-up. “This is a good way for Sherlock to mature.”

“Don’t question a bit of good luck. I know, I just ... ” John sighed and double-checked for his keys, phone, wallet, and gun. All in their usual places, hadn’t moved much since he’d left that morning. Part of him wanted to stay overnight, but that wasn’t a good idea.

“Tomorrow, Westwood. And we’ll look at houses in Marylebone and the surrounding area.”

“Hampstead?”           

“St John’s Wood.”

“Okay.” He smiled, knowing that Marylebone wasn’t Jim’s first choice of a place to live in London, but he understood that it was important to John to be close to Sherlock. Close to Baker Street. And really, he knew Jim didn’t want to be too far away either.

“Come on, John. Let’s go home.” Jim took his hand, “I’ll even let you drive if you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” He just smiled and handed him the keys to the Z4. John rolled his eyes and pocketed the keys as they left the kitchen. Sherlock was already busy at his laptop, and a second had been set up and was running alongside the one already in use. Molly lay on the couch, the Union Jack pillow tucked under her head, a body pillow tucked along her body and between her knees, and she was using one of Mrs Hudson’s Afghans and Sherlock’s gingham dressing-gown to keep herself warm. The telly was on for background, something mindless but entertaining on low volume. Tucked into the space that remained, Toby observed all that happened around him. John chuckled and approached the couch.

“Off home, then?” Molly asked, leaning her head back.

“Another long day tomorrow, love. We’ll stop by after, just like today. Promise.” He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Try to get some good rest tonight.”

“No promises.” Molly rolled her eyes.

“All I’m asking is you try.” John smiled as he straightened, going over to see what Sherlock was up to.

“I’m compiling a list of potential houses for you to look at tomorrow, I’ll send you an email so you can see them for yourself.” He said to John’s silent presence at his shoulder, “I have all of your requirements except one.”

“Here. See what this gets us.” John wrote down their budget, minimum to maximum willing to spend, and gave it to Sherlock.  “Anywhere between Hampstead and ... I’m going to say Brixton, fair game.”

“Thank you, John. This should make it somewhat easier.” Sherlock looked at the numbers and nodded as he entered them into his search.

“See you tomorrow, Sherlock.”

“Good night, John.” Sherlock looked up at him and smiled, then looked past him at Jim. “Good night, Jim.”

“Good night, Sherlock.” Jim waved as John took his hand. “See you tomorrow.”

“Be in touch, then?”

“Of course!” Jim grinned at Sherlock, “Aren’t we always?” John chuckled as he led the way down to the street. They called out to Mrs Hudson, who came out to intercept them.

“Oh, wait, boys! I almost forgot!”

“What’s that, Mrs H?” They turned as one at the door.

“These are for you!” She thrust a bag at them, “There should be enough for you to share with Sebastian and Andrew if you’re feeling particularly generous.”

“Oh, I think we can spare a couple of these for the boys.” Jim peeked into the bag, despite knowing damn well what was inside.  “What do you say, Johnny?”

“I think they’ve earned it. You know Seb will never turn down Mrs Hudson’s biscuits.” John smiled and leaned in to kiss Mrs Hudson on the cheek. “We’ll be back tomorrow, Mrs H.”

“You boys drive safe and get some rest! Good luck tomorrow, then.” She gave them each a kiss and shooed them out of the house, watching from the stoop as they went up to the corner of Baker Street and Allsop Place, judged traffic, and crossed when it was clear. Once they were on the other side, John looked back and waved, watched Mrs Hudson go back inside and close the door, locking up for the night.

“D’you suppose she’ll take your key back?”

“Hmm?” He looked over at Jim as they headed for the Z4, parked just down the way on Allsop Place.

“Mrs Hudson. If you tried to return your key to Baker Street, do you think she’d take it back?”

“Oh. Probably not, knowing her.” John chuckled. “She’ll probably give _you_ a key just because.”

“You think she would?”

“Absolutely. I mean, in all fairness, she already knows your favourite biscuits and makes them whenever we’re over. Which is quite often.”

“And she knows exactly how I take my tea.”

“Mrs Hudson is not a stupid woman.” John chuckled and unlocked the Z4, holding the door for Jim before going around to the other side and getting behind the wheel.

“No, she is not. Did you know she threatened me the first time I came to see you at Baker Street after that one night?”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all. What did she tell you?”

“That if I broke your heart, hurt Molly, or betrayed any of you, I was a dead man and no one would ever be able to pin the murder on her and even if they discovered my body, she had connections who would be happy to look the other way.”

“If not help?” John smirked. “Let me guess, she invoked Mycroft and Greg?”

“Absolutely.”

“It would have to be a spectacular fuck-up, considering you three all respect each other more than _that_.” He shook his head and turned the key in the ignition, listening to the sound the engine made as it came to life. “Are you sure you trust me with this thing?”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m used to driving Range Rovers and trucks, not something small like this.”

“You’re not a bad driver, John. Come on, let’s go home.” Jim just smiled and took his hand once he had manoeuvred out of their parking spot and gotten them underway. John let him, knowing that touching like this was so important. Neither of them was particularly _shy_ , but he noticed that they always seemed to be in contact in some way or another if they were within reach of each other during the day. And if they weren’t touching, they were within reach if necessary. The number of times Seb had walked in on them cuddling on the couch was a bit ridiculous, but all he ever really did was roll his eyes and smile at them.

 

When they got home, John parked in the garage where the Jag was usually kept and they went inside. The house was quiet as they passed through the kitchen, but there were a few lights still on.

“Wondered when you two would get back.” Seb greeted them from the family room, where he had waited for them to get home. At the moment, he was perched on an armchair with a book in one hand and his Browning on the side-table.

“You knew exactly where we were and exactly when we would get back, so you can just knock it off, Colonel.” John shot back. “Good night, Seb.”

“Good night, John.” Seb just smiled as he headed upstairs with Jim one step behind. Seb would lock up after them, do a walk of the perimeter, and see to the security detail before turning in for the night. It was quiet as they got ready for bed. John slept that night with Jim at his back, his boyfriend felt like cuddling. That was fine with him.

 

The next morning, they were up at their usual time and had breakfast. Seb printed the list of houses Sherlock had forwarded to them last night, which had also been forwarded to Mr Spengler for their house-hunting forays. They were focusing north of the bridges today, closer to home. After breakfast, they got ready for their day and John took great pleasure in helping Jim get dressed. John dressed up from his usual wardrobe, opting for something similar to what Jim had worn yesterday, and he knew that Jim took as much enjoyment helping _him_ get dressed as he did with Jim. They liked making people wonder about them, it was fun to mess with people’s heads. Today was a Westwood day, there would be no question Jim meant serious business, and it would be a very foolish man to think John was an easy target.

When they were ready, they left the house and John stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Uh, Jim?”

“Come on! You get to do the driving today!” Jim just grinned as he stood by the cars. A pair of Range Rovers sat on the drive, one was Douglas’s the other was ... new.

“What is this?”

“This is yours!” Jim touched the bonnet of the lead Rover, a gorgeous silver colour. “All the bells and whistles, brand new, only driven onto and off of the transport lorry. Do you like it?”

“It’s ... gorgeous.” John circled the car and crouched to look at the undercarriage. “Seb ran a 20-point inspection on it?”

“Absolutely. There are some ... standard modifications, of course.” Jim gave him a hand up, “Want to give her a try?”

“This ... this is mine?” John had never actually owned his own vehicle, it had never been practical or something he really wanted to worry about. But, the Rover was perfect. He knew without asking that she had been modified to very exacting specifications and he couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have cost to build the car to those specs.

“Yes, it is. She’s all yours, Captain.” Jim gave him the keys and held the door for him. “After you?”

“Sure!” He climbed into the car and got settled. This, this was familiar. This would also be the first “big” gift Jim had given him since they had started dating. As they got underway, he didn’t miss Seb taking up position behind them, never more than a car-length away and never letting more than one car get between them in traffic.

“Good old Seb.” He chuckled as he watched Seb pull a defensive manoeuvre to get back behind them after getting too far behind. “Never did like letting me out of sight for very long.” Jim looked over his shoulder as one of the drivers between them sounded his horn in frustration as Seb cut him off.

“Ooh, would you look at that?”

“That’s Seb for you.” John smiled and concentrated on getting them down to Francis James Residential. They were right on time to meet up with Mr Spengler, who reassured them that he had gotten the email with their preferences for today, and after a bit of chit-chat, they started their hunt.

***

The first house they visited was a surprisingly spacious terraced house in Belgravia, right off of Eaton Square. John distinctly remembered his one and only prior visit to Eaton Square and tried to keep an open mind about things. The house itself had far more room than expected or needed, with five bedroom suites on the second and third floors, the master suite taking over the whole of the second floor. With the ground and first floors dedicated entirely to entertaining, there was a large dining room, functional bar area, open plan kitchen and a bright first-floor formal reception room. The lower ground floors of the house comprised a state of the art cinema that honestly looked like something Mycroft would have in _his_ house, and separate staff accommodation with kitchen and living room. There was also a double garage accessed directly from the rear of the house, and the house had the added benefit of a lift, gym, and large terrace. There was also a gorgeous, two storey light-well enclosure that spanned the ground floors, adding natural light and character to the open-plan kitchen and the gym the next floor down. It did _not_ have a garden, however, which was one of the non-negotiables. A patio-garden was fine, but even the house’s massive first-floor terrace couldn’t sway them.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I think there’s too _much_ space.” John looked around the kitchen as they stood discussing the pros and cons of the house. “I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so … ”

“Spacious.” Jim filled in for him. “Maybe a bit too spacious for what we need. But it _is_ a very lovely house.”

“It’s gorgeous.” He nodded.

“Well, then, shall we?” Mr Spengler offered to show them the next house.

“Lead on. And don’t be alarmed if this one gets a little closer to your bumper, he’s more used to driving military caravans.” Jim said with a cheerful nudge to John’s shoulder. John just rolled his eyes and shoved back.

“Oh _please_. I’m not half as bad as Seb! Knock it off.”

“Er, military caravans?” Spengler blinked as he let them out of the house and locked up.

“Army, specifically. Drove some pretty rough roads in Afghanistan.” John gave Spengler a slightly mean smile, “London’s not quite Kandahar.”

“Oh! Uh, no, I … suppose it’s not! Is that what you did before?”

“Yes, I was discharged in 2009.”

“Oh. Well, thank you for your service, sir.” Spengler stashed the house-key and followed them down to the street. “And, er, what do you do now, then?”

“Well, like Jim, I do a bit of everything. I run a blog online, occasionally consult for The Metropolitan Police Service when they need an extra set of eyes or medical opinion, and the rest of the time I’m keeping this one out of trouble.” He poked a thumb at Jim, who threw him a dirty look. “When I’m not marshalling Sherlock Holmes and keeping _him_ out of handcuffs.”

“You know Sherlock Holmes?”

“Lived with him until recently.”                                                          

“Oh, wait!” And there it was, the moment of realization. “Are _you_ John Watson?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh! I should have recognized you!” Spengler held out one hand, “We’re huge fans of your blog, all of us! My sister talks about you all the time, says if not for you, she’d be in a women’s shelter, homeless and broke!”

“Who’s your sister?”

“Maggie Templeton. I doubt you’d remember her, but you did her a good turn and I always wanted a chance to thank the people responsible for getting her situation turned around.”

“Just doing a job I happen to be rather good at.” John just smiled. He remembered the Templeton case and had been more than happy to see Zachary Templeton locked away for a very, _very_ long time. He had hoped the man’s ex-wife had moved on and found herself a stable future, it seemed she might have.

“She got remarried in February, she’s much happier now, says it’s all thanks to you and Mr Holmes.”

“Oh, good. I’ll let him know.” Sherlock didn’t particularly care about the aftermath of their cases, but John knew he wouldn’t mind hearing about Maggie Templeton’s change of fortunes.

“Thank you, Doctor Watson.” Spengler headed for his car, “Just follow me, gents! We’re for St John’s Wood!”

“That’ll do.” John unlocked the Rover and got in. It wasn’t long before they were underway and the drive to their next location was quiet, but Jim wouldn’t stop _smiling_.

 

The second house was located on Norfolk Road, and as soon as they pulled up, John knew it would at least fulfil their parking requirements, he could see a one-car garage and a sloped driveway.

“Well, that’ll do for parking, I think.”

“There’s also residential permitted parking,” Jim said as they got out of the car.

“Well, let’s go take a look. Worst case we move on.” John checked his watch. They were fine on time, but he was starving. Spengler let them through the gate, but not before John gave Seb orders.

“Primrose Hill and Regents Park are just east and a little south of us. Go give the dogs a good run, take a break, I’ll text when we’re out of here.” 

“We could check on Baker Street for you?” Douglas tried not to look too hopeful and failed pretty miserably.

“Or you can check on Baker Street for me.” John rolled his eyes. “I know you’re just dying for more of Mrs Hudson’s biscuits, Andrew.”

“Can you _blame_ me?”

“Not at all. Go on, you two.” He shook his head and stepped back from the car, watching until they were out of sight.

“Where’d you send them off to?” Jim asked as they joined Spengler.

“To take a break. I’d be an idiot if they don’t camp out at Baker Street.”

“You know they’re going to.” Jim just chuckled. Of course, they would, and it wasn’t very likely anyone at Baker Street was going to mind having them for a while. The Norfolk Road house was a semi-detached house of good size with enough room for all of them. It had the bonus of a pool in the back garden and plenty of yard space for the dogs. It was also quite securely gated from the street. The garage, kitchen, and dining were on the lower ground floor, the latter let out onto the garden; the upper ground floor comprised a double-reception and study along with the first of three en-suite bedrooms; on the first floor were two further bedroom suites, including the master suite. It was a very nice house, but John had a bit of a problem with the sloped driveway. That was really its only downside, but they still opted to see the next house. They tentatively put the house on their list for consideration, because the only real negative was more John just being obstinate about the driveway than any legitimate reason not to like it overall.

 

House #3, their next stop, was a fully-detached house not that far from House #2 in Wadham Gardens with off-street parking for two cars. That was exactly what they had asked for. But there was no garage, which _wasn’t_ a must-have requirement. As they stood on the driveway, studying the house from the outside as Spengler gave them the house’s specs, John studied the pavement beneath his feet. There was something unusual that he noticed, a sort of ... defect? Or a feature. There was a subtle white border around part of the pavement about the dimensions of a standard parking spot. Rather specific, that.

“Well, shall we take a look at the house, then?” Spengler broke his concentration and John looked up. Jim just gave him a smile.

“Sure.” John shrugged. Going inside, they first viewed a family-room, a double-volume dining/reception with a mezzanine library, a modernised, open-plan kitchen and breakfast room, and a fabulous back garden area that had plenty of room for the dogs and lovely paved patio space for al fresco dining when the weather was nice.

“Oh, _this_ will do just fine for the dogs!” He looked at Jim, “What’d you think?”

“I love it, and we haven’t even seen the whole _house_!” Jim was smiling the way he did when he was truly happy about something. It was the first time in almost two weeks John had seen that smile.

“Where do those stairs go?” He had noticed a set of stairs leading down, suspected they led to a basement or lower-ground floor.

“That’s the lower-ground, but I’m saving _that_ for last.” Spengler smiled, “There’s a couple of neat features to this house and they’re all in the basement, but I like to save the best features of a house for last for the most ... well, wow-factor.”

“Alright then.” John shared a look with Jim. Whatever was down there had better be damn nice, then. So, they went up instead of down and saw a gorgeous master suite on the first floor with an open-plan dressing-room that had more than enough room for Jim’s Westwood collection. There were another three bedrooms and two bathrooms on the first and second floor. The bedrooms were all quite spacious and well-appointed, plenty to house four adults with a spare room for guests.

Finally, they’d seen everything above-ground, and it was time for Spengler to show them the house’s “wow-factor”.  And it was definitely wow.

“Is that a _pool_?” John stared, a little flabbergasted to see something like this in a residential home. He’d heard of it, of course, seen it in much larger houses.

“Yes, it is.”

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” Jim asked quietly, only half-joking. John had a thing for pool-decks these days, with good reason.

“Oh, please.” John shook his head. Standing in this room didn’t give him flash-backs, it honestly didn’t. “I told  you, that wasn’t the worst by far that had happened to me.”

“Well.”

“It’s _fine_. Besides, maybe it’ll get me to do something about this.” He gave his midsection a pat.

“Oh, stop it. You’re in better shape than most people ten years younger. None of that.” Jim scolded, smacking him on the hip. There was also a gym and a vacant space that could be turned into ... something else.

“Armoury?” John studied the available space, he could easily see this being turned into a munitions store for the house.

“Oh, absolutely. Seb would love this space.” Jim smirked.

“But no basement pistol-range, thank you very much.”

“Not when you have access to the ranges at Vauxhall Cross!” That got an eye-roll. John snickered. They _did_ have access to the MI-6 firing-ranges, and that wasn’t a perk taken for granted. There was also a state-of-the-art cinema with a retractable screen and projector and seating for quite a few people. And then, Spengler showed them to an open, vault-like space that didn’t seem to have anything in it.

“What is this room for?” John asked as he walked the perimeter of the room. It was a very specific shape, precise dimensions. Looking up, he took note of the ceiling. For about half the length of the room, it was smooth concrete, and the other half was a distinctive, sturdy metal grid with support-pillars that looked almost like ... well, if he wasn’t mistaken, those were lift supports. He’d seen something nearly identical on an aircraft carrier once during a joint-force exercise and they toured the flight-decks.

“John? What are you doing over there?” Jim had noticed his intense concentration and tried to get his attention.

“Hang on a second.”

“Oh, for ... ” He practically heard the eye-roll. “I’m sorry, he does this occasionally.”

“What _is_ he doing?”

“Not a bloody clue. I’d say staring into blank space, but that’s not quite it.” Jim huffed, “He’s studying something on the ceiling.”

“Not the ceiling!” John corrected, rubbing his hand against one of the supports, “That’s not a ceiling!”

“It’s ... what?”

“That, if I’m _not_ wrong, is the roof of a lift!”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw one on a carrier once during a joint-exercise with the Navy, and I noticed something on the driveway before we entered the house. There was a defect in the driveway, I know what it’s for.” He smiled, “I was wrong, there _was_ a garage, it just happens to be underground.”

“A car-lift?” Jim joined him and looked up.

“Mhm. This is an underground garage. You could _easily_ fit another two cars in here, parked end to end.”

“We could park the BMW here, couldn’t we?”

“Absolutely. And probably my Rover. Save a load on permit fees.” He folded his arms and looked at Jim, “I don’t want to say the subterranean garage just sold me on this house, but ... ”

“The subterranean garage sold you on this house.” Jim’s smile was sly.

“Shall we go upstairs, gentlemen?” Spengler asked with a grin. The prospect of a sale had his attention.

“Sure. I’ve seen enough.” John looked around, unable to help a smile. Going upstairs, Spengler gave them a brochure on the house with all of the features and specs. John saw the asking-price and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m afraid it’s quite a bit out of your initial price-range, Doctor Watson.” He sounded a little sorry about that.

“Well, considering what you get for the price, I’d be worried if it was any lower than that.” He shrugged and looked at Jim. “Did I give you a budget?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Hmm.” He looked around again, they were in the kitchen. “Changed my mind.”

“Oh?”

“No budget.”

“You want the house, don’t you?” Jim just gave him a sly, soft look.

“Tell me you don’t and I call you a liar.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“Have you made a choice, then, gents?” Spengler asked carefully. John and Jim looked at each other and nodded.

“I think we have. This house has the right  _feel_ to it, and it has all of the features we’re looking for, with a few very nice bonuses.” John looked at Jim and took his hand, “I think ... I think this is it. It feels the way a home ought to.”

“Walk into the house and it feels like you just walked into your own.” Jim smiled, knowing exactly what John was trying to say. “Has there been much _interest_ in this house while it’s been on the market?”

“Not as much as there could be, no. It’s actually ... well, it’s been a bit stagnant, to be honest.” Spengler shrugged, “I believe a few contracts have fallen through on one cause or another.”

“That’s unfortunate. The house seems to be in fairly good condition, it’s obviously been taken care of.”

“Why don’t we go back to the office and start the paperwork, then?”

“Absolutely. We’ll meet you back at your office, then, Mr Spengler.” Jim shook hands with Spengler and they went out again, making sure to lock up after themselves. The drive back to Fulham was lively, they traded ideas on what they liked about the house and what they’d change about it. There wasn’t much _to_ change, really. They liked the layout, the space was well-designed, and the car-lift and two-car garage were a really nice bonus.

 

When they got back to Francis James Residential, they sat down with Spengler and worked out the specifics to buy the Wadham Gardens house. They made an all-cash offer at just below the asking price and arranged for the inspection, with an agency of _their_ choosing, upon acceptance of their offer or after negotiating a price the seller agreed to.

“And when were you thinking to move in and take ownership?”

“We would like to be completely moved into the house and in full ownership by no later than 6 August.” John suspected they could be in the house well before three and a half months had come up, but it was better to give a reliable time-frame.

“August?”

“To give time for any renovations we’d make to the house.” Jim said calmly, “There are a few things we would be doing to the house before we moved in.”

“Oh. Yes, I understand.” Spengler just nodded hurriedly and made a note of their desired move-in date. “You are, of course, welcome to move in earlier if everything goes well.”

“The hard date I need to be out of Baker Street is 6 August, absolutely no later than that.”

“Of course, Doctor Watson.” Spengler just gave them a nervous smile and finished what he was doing on the computer.

***

Once they had everything squared away with Francis James Residential, it was time to go home and wait for the sellers to get back to them. John called ahead to Baker Street to let them know that they were _finally_ done house-hunting and on their way home.

 _“Oh good! It’s about damn time!”_ Seb tried to sound put out and failed miserably. He was enjoying himself far too much, and John knew it. _“What took you so long?”_

 _“We bought a house.”_ John said dead-pan, _“That’s what took us so long.”_

_“Sorry?”_

_“Oh, you heard me the first time. We. Bought. A. House.”_ He grinned, unable to help himself.

_“No kidding! You finally made up your fucking minds and bought a house?”_

_“Yes, Seb, we finally made up our fucking minds and bought a house.”_

_“That’s great! Get your arses back to Baker Street, we’re celebrating!”_

_“Is that an order, sir?”_ His grin turned into a smirk.

 _“Does it_ have _to be an order, Captain?”_ He heard that tone in Seb’s voice and muffled a snicker. Jim snorted and John shushed him, they _were_ on speaker after all.

_“Mm. No, sir, I don’t think it does.”_

_“Bring beer and I’ll consider not taking you up for insubordination, Captain Watson.”_

_“Bribery, sir?”_

_“You have your orders, Captain. Be home in thirty minutes.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_ John managed to hang up before either of them burst out laughing.

“Y’know, I think you’re the _only_ person I know who can actually talk to him like that and get away with it,” Jim said between chuckles. “Oh, anyone else would get the sense beat out of them!”

“One more stop to make before we get back to Baker Street.” John cleared his throat. “I think a quick stop at Tesco will about do it.” Making a short detour, he parked along Glentworth Street and ran around the corner to the Tesco Express on Melcombe Street. Settling on a multi of London Pride and a bottle of Eisberg Chardonnay, Alcohol-Free, John made his purchases and caught up with Jim.

 

The drive from Melcombe to Baker Street took next to no time at all, they parked over on Allsop Place and walked to Baker Street. John checked his watch as he held the door for Jim and raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what I call timing.” He muttered, letting Jim lock up as he headed up the stairs. Going by the smells wafting from B, Angelo had already been by with dinner. Getting through the door, they were bombarded by a very excited fuzzy greeting-committee.

“Oi, none of that now! Down, you monsters!” He scolded, shoving Ajax out of his way, “Down, you.”

“Sorry excuse for a guard-dog _you_ are, Ajax.” Sherlock chuckled, coming to relieve John of his burden. “Is he always like that?”

“Always.” John rolled his eyes as he passed over the wine, “That’s for Molly.”

“Perfect. And this is for the rest of us?” Indicating the London Pride.

“Yep. Angelo stopped by?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect, I’m starving.” He shrugged out of his coat, hanging it by the door, passing the beer to Seb. “Thirty minutes and a sixer of beer.”

“Show-off,” Seb muttered, slightly miffed that John had actually managed to pull everything off with time to spare.

“Alright, boys, play nice. Let’s eat.” Molly scolded from the kitchen. “Wash up and sit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” They all knew that when Molly Hooper said do, you did, so they did. Angelo had, of course, brought more than enough for all of them with enough left over to keep them for at least another week beyond. Which was absolutely fine with them.

“So, Seb says you’ve found a house?” Sherlock prompted as they ate.

“Mm.” John swallowed before saying anything. “Yeah, it was one of the houses _you_ picked out actually.”

“Oh? Which one?” An eyebrow went up and John saw the curve of a smile.

“The house in Wadham Gardens? The detached four-bedroom.”

“Oh! That one!” Sherlock’s eyes lit up. “What did you think of it?”

“Well, we made a full-cash offer just a bit below their asking, it’s in their court now.”

“So, what sold you on _that_ house over any of the other houses you looked at?”

“Well, the parking was a mark in its favour before we ever saw inside. Gated two-car parking off-street? That’s exactly what we asked for. The garage was just a bonus by the time we got around to see it.” John smirked and took a sip of beer.

“What made it so special?”

“It’s subterranean.” He scratched at the label on his bottle with a fingernail.

“There’s a car-lift?”

“Mhm.”              

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually been in a house that has one!” Molly blinked, “I mean, I don’t think Mycroft’s house has one, does it?”

“The Old Church Street house does.”

“It _does_?”

“What do you think the turntable is for?” Sherlock just looked at his fiancée and gave her _that look_.

“Oh! See but don’t observe!” She realized and made a face. “It never occurred to me that it didn’t just reorient the cars to face one way or another.” John snickered into his beer but kept his mouth shut.

 

After dinner, John helped Molly with the wash-up and then it was time to take leave for the night. After saying goodnight to Sherlock and Molly and Mrs Hudson, John did the driving and when they got home, they dismissed Seb and Douglas for the night. With the legwork out of the way and nothing but waiting for the seller's agents to get back to them, they could at least take a breath. Jim made an unusual declaration that surprised John.

“No more sex.” It was soft-spoken, John nearly missed it altogether.

“What’s that?” He lifted his head and looked at Jim.

“I said “no more sex”.”

“Oh, that’s what I thought I heard.” He frowned, “Can I ask why? It’s not me, is it?”

“No, no, no.” Jim rolled over and looked at him, brown eyes soft in the darkness of their bedroom. Well, _the_ bedroom. “John, you’re amazing and easily the best sex I’ve _ever_ had. It’s. Not. You.”

“Okay. And it’s not you, either?”

“No, it’s not me, it’s ... stupid.”

“No, it’s not. What is it, love?”

“The next time we have sex, I want it to be really special.”

“Not that every time isn’t extraordinary.” He grinned.

“John, I’m _serious_!”

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologized, “What were you thinking?”

“From now until the day we move into Wadham Gardens, no more sex. That way, the next time we have sex, it will be in _our_ home, _our_ bedroom, _our_ bed.”

“Fine. But I have one demand.” John could go one month or three months, it made no difference, but if there was one thing out of the house that he really _honestly_ wanted, it was this bed.

“Very well. I just demanded three months of celibacy from you, so ... fire away.” Jim smiled a bit.

“This bed comes to the new house.”

“Of course it will.”

“Fine. I can wait three months if I have to.” He leaned in and kissed Jim on the cheek. “You’re impossible, Jim Moriarty.”

“Mm. I think I’m _your_ impossible, John Watson.”

“You’d better be, no one else is going to take care of you, are they?”

“Well, Seb might.”

“Seb will kick your sorry arse for being a moron.” John rolled his eyes. “I’m the one keeping you out of trouble.”

“Which I am very grateful for.” Jim rubbed noses with him.

“Good night, you impossible man.” John rolled again and got comfortable. Part of his future was settled, the rest would fall into place in time. In spite of the stress of their day, John and Jim slept well. One or both of them would sometimes wake before sunrise, but on this night, as with many, they simply slept in each other’s company.

* * *

* * *

 


	9. Idiot Mastermind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets bored. Stupid somethings happen. John is not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicknames and endearments:  
> léas – benevolent influence (Irish) pr. lace  
> Foxy - JW's nickname for JM  
> Astór - JM's nickname for JW. Taken from "A stór", Irish for "my treasure". pr. Ah-store.

* * *

* * *

With two weeks of pent-up frustrations and restless energy driving him bonkers, John knew it was only a matter of time before Jim found an outlet for his agitation. And he knew, after just a month of dating, that it probably wouldn’t be a _good_ outlet, a productive, constructive outlet. If he knew anything about his boyfriend, Jim would do something extremely stupid and John would have to get him out of whatever trouble he got _into_. Again. There would be bail-money and maybe a visit to a judge involved, knowing his luck. So, when Jim disappeared without a word on the 28th, reported missing by Andrew Douglas at noon that day after he lost Jim somewhere in Islington, John just grabbed his coat and keys, made sure he had his phone and gun, and hit the streets.  He touched base with Seb, Greg, _and_ Mycroft, just for good measure, before he took off on his own to look for his boyfriend. He started in Islington where Douglas had lost Jim and spread out from there, but wherever Jim had gone to ground, whatever he was up to, John had no trace of him. A text message sent to ask if he was alright received a standard “I’m alright. Be home soon.”, which was pretty much what Jim said every time regardless of how soon “be home soon” really was.

**I don’t believe you. – JW**

**I promise I’m not in trouble. xx – JM**

**I still don’t believe you. – JW**

**I love you, my léas. xx – JM**

“Oh, great.” John sighed and looked at that last text. “He’s going to do something really stupid.” And there was nothing John could do to stop him. The last text he sent to Jim had a very simple request.

 

**Whatever you do, don’t get caught. Don’t…get arrested. Please? I love you, Foxy. – JW**

Having done what he could, and leaving the rest to hope, John pocketed his phone and went home to Baker Street. Molly and Sherlock kept him distracted as best they could. Sherlock had case-files from Greg and Molly had a list of names for the baby, and she wanted his input on the nursery. It was his old room, after all.

 

Two days later, John was at work when Greg called him. He happened to be between patients, so he was able to take the phone call. There were only a few reasons Greg would call and John sighed.

 _“Sherlock or Jim?”_ he asked in lieu of saying hello.

 _“Not Sherlock, and it’s not Jim. At least, I don’t think it is. I don’t have a clue, actually.”_ Greg sounded out of breath, and John heard a commotion in the background that informed him that Greg was in his squad car.

_“Where are you, Greg?”_

_“Coming to get you.”_

_“What’s happened?”_ He was already checking his schedule and arranging to switch with another doctor.

_“I’m … not sure. Something’s happened over at The Tower of London and they’ve shut down and evacuated the whole place. They called out SCO-19, for Chrissakes!”_

_“Oh my god.”_ John exhaled. Jim was involved somehow. How was uncertain, but…Christ. It could be anything, the fact that Greg was coming to get him was telling.

_“I’ll meet you out front, Greg.”_

_“Roger that. See you in a few, John.”_

_“Yeah. See you.”_ John hung up and pocketed his phone as he got up after shutting down his computer. He grabbed his coat and made sure he had everything as he left his office. Locking up, he looked over his shoulder.

“Vander?”

“I’ve got you, Watson.” Stacy Vander just waved him off. “I can’t imagine what it is this time.”

“I have no idea.” He shrugged into his coat. “Whatever it is, it’s serious enough Lestrade is coming to get me.”

“Uh oh. It’s not Holmes, is it?”

“No, it’s not Sherlock. For once.” He checked his phone again. “Take that at face value.”

“Your boyfriend’s not involved, is he?” Stacy folded her arms and looked him over. “Your nervous energy is pretty telling. You’re worried.”

“He’s been gone for two days, Stace. No one has seen him or will say if they _have_. This is usually when stupid somethings happen and I end up having to drag his arse out of jail after paying bail. Again. God, I need a tracker for that prick.”

“Couldn’t you get one from your pals at Section Six?”

“That would be as easy as saying “pretty please” to Q.” John felt his phone buzz. “I’ll be in touch, I’ve gotta go. Ride’s here.”

“Good luck, Doctor Watson!” The receptionists called as he ran out the door and forwent the lift for the stairs. He reached the kerb right as Greg pulled up, lights and sirens going, and wasted no time getting in. Sally was in the back, he got shotgun.

“Sorry to pull you from work like this, John.”

“Don’t apologize.” He buckled up as they manoeuvred through traffic. “Start talking.”

“Sal?”

“Someone broke into the Tower of London and tried to steal the Crown Jewels. At least, that’s what they’re telling us.”

“What?! Wait.” John turned to look at Sally, “Did you just say someone broke into the Tower of London?”

“The Jewel House, to be precise. We don’t know what actually happened.” 

“Oh my god.”

“Do you think Jim’s involved?”

“I’m going to kill him.” John covered his face with both hands. “I swear, I’m going to murder him.” Planning out different ways to beat sense into Jim, John sent a text to Mycroft and Seb.

 

**Found him. – JW**

**We’re aware of the situation. – MH**

That was about standard for a response from Mycroft, John left it at that.

 

Forty minutes later, John was standing on the roof of Greg’s car, watching the SCO-19 teams come out of the Jewel House. It wasn’t until he _saw_ Jim, surrounded and locked in handcuffs with the biggest idiot grin on his face, that he remembered how to breathe properly.

“Oh, he is in _so much_ trouble,” John muttered, carefully lowering and holstering his side-arm. As they brought Jim over to Greg’s car, Greg taking him from the 19 lads, John got down from the roof and waited for them. Holding the door, he studied his boyfriend.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Jim Moriarty.”

“But I’m your fucking idiot, right?”

“Always and forever.” He cracked a smile and leaned over the door, “Next time you get bored, sweetheart, don’t break into the Tower of London? Please?”

“I’m sorry, John.”

“What did I tell you? Two days ago, what did I tell you?”

“Don’t get caught, don’t get arrested. And I ... ”

“Did both.” He kissed Jim on the cheek, “I wouldn’t expect any less of you.”

“Still love me, Astór?”

“Always and forever, Foxy. I still love you to pieces. Probably a terrible idea, but I’m not really sorry.” He got in an honest kiss before letting Greg situate Jim in the car. He had driven in with Greg, but he couldn’t drive back because of where they were taking Jim. But Mycroft and Seb were on hand, he could get a ride back with one of them instead. As Greg’s car pulled away, with a two-car escort for good measure, his phone rang.

 _“Yeah.”_ He didn’t bother with his usual greeting, the second time today he’d done it.

 _“I’m supposed to tell you to check your text messages,”_ Greg said, amusement clear in his voice.

 _“Check my...oh, for fuck’s sake. What did he do this time?”_ John sighed. _“Thanks, Greg. I’ll do that when I’m not surrounded by police personnel. Tell him...to be nice for the lads.”_

 _“That’s not what you wanted me to tell him.”_ Greg chuckled. John blushed.

 _“No, but I’m not asking you to tell him_ that _, Greg.”_

_“Thanks for that.”_

_“Good luck with the mad boffin.”_

_“Your mad boffin?”_

_“My mad boffin. I’d apologize, but I don’t think this really surprised any of us.”_

_“No, it was inevitable.”_

_“Good luck, Greg. I owe you a couple.”_

_“Yeah, I’ll collect later,”_ Greg said. _“Take care, John. Keep your head down.”_

 _“Will do. Talk later, Greg.”_ John said before hanging up. As he pocketed his phone, he saw Seb coming his way.

“Well?”

“Well, we found him.” John looked around at the mess of police personnel. “Moron.”

“What was he _doing_?”

“No idea. Apparently, I’m supposed to check my text messages, but like hell am I doing that around here.”

“Probably smart, knowing him.” Seb patted him on the shoulder, “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

“He’s our idiot, Seb.”

“He’s _your_ idiot, John. And God bless you for staying with him.”

“Someone has to. Mycroft has Greg, Sherlock has Molly, and Jim...”

“Jim has John Watson. He’s the luckiest man in London.” Seb led the way to the Jag, “I guess we should be grateful he didn’t kill anyone or blow up any buildings this time.”

“Instead, he broke into the Tower of London and did ... what? He didn’t _steal_ anything, obviously, so ... ”

“I guess we’ll find out eventually.” Seb held the door for him. “Baker Street?”

“Yeah, might as well.” He got into the Jag. “Sherlock’s going to love this.”

 

The drive back to Baker Street was quiet, and when John got back to the flat, he hung up his coat and toed off his shoes. He didn’t say a word to Sherlock, who heard him come in.

“What happened?” Sherlock looked up from his laptop.

“Jim got arrested.”

“Doing what?”

“Broke into the Tower of London, if you can believe that.” He headed for the kitchen. “Tea?”

“Please. Ta.” There was a moment of quiet, a shuffle as Sherlock got up and followed him into the kitchen. “Wait, what did he do?”

“Broke into the Tower of London.”

“That’s what I thought you said.” Sherlock leaned against the doorway, “Was anyone hurt?”

“Hurt? Possibly. Killed? No.”

“Well, that was nice of him.”

“I don’t know exactly what happened, but the Crown Jewels were involved.”

“Should I ask Mycroft?”

“Yes. I guarantee he knows more than I do.” John leaned against the worktop, “Christ, my boyfriend’s such a ... a ... ”

“Psychopath?”

“More of a sociopath these days.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. When the kettle clicked off, he fixed up tea and gave one cup to Sherlock.

“I guess this means you’ll be staying over for a few days?”

“If you and Molly don’t mind some company.”

“Absolutely not at all!” Sherlock smiled over his teacup, “If you need a distraction in the interim, you can help me build the crib.” John chuckled but said nothing. He could do with a distraction like that, to be honest. It might be...therapeutic. At the very least it would keep him busy enough he wouldn’t be able to worry as much about Jim. But good luck with _that_.

 

Greg stopped by around seven with Thai, beer, and something for John.

“I was instructed to give this to you, and only to you.” He said with a shrug as he handed John a clear evidence pouch. “I have no idea what’s on it, none of my business, but he was very specific that you get that card.”

“Huh. Guess I’ll look at it later.” John still hadn’t looked at the text messages Jim had sent him earlier, figured it could probably wait a bit.

“You’re a brave man, dating Jim Moriarty, John.”

“Brave? Or stupid.” He rolled his eyes. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Just a couple of security guards who got tazed and sprayed.”

“He didn’t _steal_ anything, did he?”

“Nothing was stolen. Just broke a ballistics-glass enclosure, but that can be replaced. Jewel House is closed for a while, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He shook his head. “Jim, you idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Sherlock said calmly.

“Shut it, Holmes.” John retorted. He still couldn’t believe Jim had broken into The Tower of London. He hadn’t stolen anything, nothing had been permanently damaged that couldn’t be replaced, and no one had died.

“Boys, be nice.” Greg scolded around a sip of beer.

 

That night, John slept in his old room at Baker Street and woke up the next morning at his usual time. He visited Jim in lock-up for a bit before returning to Baker Street and helping Sherlock with cold cases and a few private clients who came for his help while Molly was at work. It was business as usual, and that was okay with John. He did finally get around to looking at the contents of Jim’s text messages and the SD card Greg had given him. And got an idea of just what Jim had been up to when he thought breaking into Jewel House was a good idea in the first place.

“Oh my god.” He whispered, staring at the images on his screen.

“What?”

“He’s not a sociopath! He’s a fucking exhibitionist!” John looked over the top of his laptop at Sherlock, “He’s almost as bad as you are!”

“What did he do?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“He ... well, he broke into Jewel House and ... posed with the Crown Jewels.” He clicked through the photographs Jim had given him. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

“You don’t want me to see the photographs, do you?”

“Not exactly.”

“No one else can ever know those photographs exist.”

“And they _won’t_. Greg didn’t know what was on that SD card, and he never will.” Honestly, John wished that Jim taking pictures of himself wearing nothing but sexy women’s lingerie and the Crown Jewels wasn’t the strangest thing he’d ever seen, or his boyfriend had _done_. But it kind of was. It was also ... charming. And very much something Jim would do. Not because he was bored, but just because he felt like misbehaving a bit. Careful thought and some degree of planning had obviously gone into the stunt, John was fairly certain Jim had set up a camera on a timer and taken the pictures of himself, removing the SD card from the camera before he was arrested and handing it off to Greg to make sure it got safely to John and therefore ensuring that those photographs never, ever saw the light of day beyond John’s discretion. John accessed a specific encrypted server he had access to and carefully uploaded every single image from his phone and the SD card to a special folder there. Then, he doubled the security and made sure no one else would ever be able to access the files without prior authorization before reformatting the SD card and wiping all traces of those photographs.


	10. The Trial of The Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim goes to court for breaking into the Tower of London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin. With a twist.

* * *

* * *

Six weeks later, John found himself sitting in a courtroom at the Central Criminal Court with Sherlock, Greg, Mycroft, Molly, and Seb. They were all sitting in on Jim’s trial. So far, it far more entertaining than it should have been. Sherlock, for reasons unknown, had been called as the Prosecution’s star witness and they were currently questioning him about his personal history with Jim. Jim was, of course, just sitting in his dock, grinning like a fiend and thoroughly enjoying himself, nonchalantly chewing on something. The rest of them were sitting in the public gallery upstairs.

“A “consulting criminal.”” The prosecuting barrister, a rather attractive blonde woman in her forties, was doing the questioning for this round.

“Yes.”

“Can you expand on that answer?”

“James Moriarty is for hire.” Sherlock said simply.

“A tradesman?”

“Yes.”

“But not the sort who’d fix your heating.”

“No, the sort who’d plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I’m sure he’d make a pretty decent job of your boiler.” There was muffled laughter from some people in the court, and the prosecuting barrister tried to hide her smile.

“Would you describe him as ... ”

“Leading.” Sherlock cut her off.

 “What?”

“Can’t do that. You’re leading the witness.” He looks towards the defending barrister. “He’ll object and the judge will uphold.”

“Mr Holmes.” The judge looked exasperated – this wasn’t the first time Sherlock had done this during his evidence.

“Ask me how. _How_ would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?”

“Mr Holmes, we’re fine without your help.” The judge interjected.

“ _How_ would you describe this man – his character?”

“First mistake.” Sherlock looked at Jim. “James Moriarty isn’t a man at all – he’s a spider; a spider at the centre of a web – a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances.” Jim almost imperceptibly nodded his head as if approving of the description. Sherlock wasn’t far wrong with that analogy. The prosecuting barrister cleared her throat awkwardly.

“And how long ... ”

“No, no, don’t-don’t do that. That’s really not a good question.”

“Mr Holmes.” The judge warned.

“How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up.” John didn’t miss the sarcastic tone of voice. “I felt we had a special something.” Jim raises his eyebrows in an “ooh!” expression and turned to look up at John, grinning.

“You’re not the one _dating_ him, smart-arse.” He muttered.

“Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?” The judge looked at the barrister, his expression exasperated.

“Two minutes would have made me an expert,” Sherlock said bluntly. “Five was ample.”

“Mr Holmes, that’s a matter for the jury.”

“Oh, really?” He turned towards the jury box. John folded his hands against his mouth and waited. He knew exactly what was coming. Sherlock turned the full force of his gaze onto the twelve people sitting in the jury box and had deduced all of them within a couple of seconds. Showtime.

“One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the City.” He focused on the woman at the far left of the front row. She had a notebook resting on the ledge in front of her.  “The foreman’s a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand.”

“I swear to God if he gets himself arrested for contempt,” John muttered, watching his flat-mate.

“Idiot can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?” Greg just shook his head.

“My brother knows what he’s doing.” Mycroft said quietly, “But he does _not_ know when to keep his thoughts to himself.”

“Mr Holmes!”

“Seven are married and two are having an affair – with each other, it would seem!” Sherlock kept talking. “Oh, and they’ve just had tea and biscuits.” He turned to the judge. “Would you like to know who ate the wafer?”

“Mr Holmes. You’ve been called here to answer Miss Sorrel’s questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess.” The judge was running out of patience. “Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt.” Sherlock just made eye-contact with Jim, John could see the “we’re surrounded by idiots” expressions on their face.

“Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?” The judge asked sternly. Sherlock paused while he gave the question some thought, then opened his mouth and drew in a breath.

“Sherlock, I swear to God,” John muttered, covering his face with one hand so he wouldn’t actually have to watch Sherlock get himself removed in handcuffs for contempt.

“Does the Prosecution have any more questions for me?”

“Not at this time, Mr Holmes.”

“You’re excused, Mr Holmes.” The judge said, “Sit down.”  John watched, wondering what the hell had just happened, as Sherlock made his way from the stand back to his seat. The judge closed the file and picked up his gavel. The court was adjourned for that day and they all stood as the judge left the courtroom. John stayed put as Jim was escorted from the room, only leaving once his boyfriend was out of sight.

“Now it’s up to the Defense and the jury, I guess.” He shrugged into his coat as he followed the rest of them out of the galleries. “At least Sherlock didn’t get himself arrested on charges of contempt.”

“It was close.” Greg chuckled, “I really wanted him to, though. Just to see if it would teach him a lesson.”

“Unlikely, knowing my brother.” Mycroft rolled his eyes and offered his arm to Molly, who took it with a shy smile. They met up with Sherlock outside the courthouse, found him people-watching and silently deducing every single person who walked past.

“What did I say?” John just shook his head at Sherlock. “I said, “Don’t get clever.””                                         

“I can’t just turn it on and off like a tap.” He turned to John as they began to walk away.

“Would it kill anyone to _listen_ to me once in a while?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t ask for much, Sherlock, I really don’t. Just … do as you’re told for once?”

“Yeah, that’ll happen,” Greg muttered.

“Well?” Sherlock didn’t seem much affected by John’s plea to behave himself in public just once.

“Well, what?”

“You were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish.”

“Like you said it would be.” John thought back to the behaviour he had noticed from Jim’s defending barrister. “He sat on his backside, never even stirred.”

“Moriarty’s not mounting any defence.”

“Tower of London. One of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why.” Greg put in, shaking his head. “All we know is ... ”

“... he ended up in custody.” John took a breath. _He_ knew how, he knew why, Sherlock knew, but no one else did. Sherlock stopped and turned to John.

“Don’t do that.” He said sharply, seeing the look on his flat-mate’s face.

“Do what?”

“The look.”

“Look?”

“You’re doing the look again.”

“Well, I can’t see it, can I?” He said dismissively. John pointed to a nearby car, it’s windows reflecting the people walking past. Sherlock turned his head and looked at his reflection.

“It’s my face.”

“Yes, and it’s doing a thing. You’re doing a “we all know what’s really going on here” face.”

“Well, we do.”

“No. I don’t, which is why I find The Face so annoying.”

“If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he’d have them.”  Sherlock shook his head, almost irritated. “The only reason he’s still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there.”

“No, the only reason he’s still in a prison cell right now is because he knows what he did was wrong and he isn’t going to try and charm his way out of trouble this time.” Seb finally spoke up, for the first time since they’d left The Old Bailey.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Jim might be spontaneous and reckless, but he’s not _stupid_ ,” Seb said evenly. “If there’s one thing in this world he absolutely can’t stand, it is disappointing people. He hates letting people down.”

“And when he broke into The Tower six weeks ago, he disappointed at least two people.”

“Oh, I could care less, I’ll tear him a new one for being a moron, it’s part of my fucking _job_.” Seb shook his head, looking at John, “It’s John he hurt, John he let down when he broke into Jewel House. Now, to be fair, he got clever and creative, but it still was A Bit Not Good.”

“What do you mean?”

“We spent twenty-four hours scouring every corner of London we could access looking for Jim Moriarty.” Mycroft said quietly, “It is not the first time we have been called upon to assist Captain Watson in locating his errant partner, but this once we failed to locate him before he took action.”

“I’m just grateful he didn’t try committing suicide or something like that, I keep expecting him to pull that stunt.” John sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks for keeping him locked up until now, Mycroft, I know it’s kind of a wasteful use of your resources.”

“It absolutely is not.” Mycroft shook his head dismissively. “A standard prison-cell would not suit a prisoner such as Jim Moriarty, and it is better for his safety if he is inaccessible to other inmates during this time.” And wasn’t that the truth? John sighed and wondered how this would pan out. It could go any number of ways, but the defence team’s lack of action was kind of concerning. All they could do now was wait.

 

The next morning, they all returned to Old Bailey but Sherlock stayed home. The first person called to the stand was Jim, and the judge looked at the list of charges first before looking at Jim.

“Mr Moriarty, I am a very busy man and I have no patience for games in my courtroom.”

“No, Your Honour.”

“If I asked you a question, would you answer me straight?”

“To the best of my abilities, Your Honour.”

“Very well.” Another glance at the file on his desk. “You’re here because you broke into one of the most secure locations in the city. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, Your Honour.”

“You weren’t thinking.” That got an eyebrow. The judge was probably thinking he had a repeat of yesterday’s madhouse on his hands.

“No, Your Honour.”

“Why? Why the Tower of London? You caused thousands of pounds in damages and injured two security guards. For what cause?”

“I was bored.”

“Oh my God.” John put his head in both hands. “He did not.”

“Yep.”

“I’m gonna kill ‘im.”

“You ... were _bored_?”

“Yes, Your Honour.” Jim looked up at John, who wasn’t looking at anyone. “My boyfriend told me not to get caught, not to get arrested.”

“You have a boyfriend, Mr Moriarty?”

“Yes, Your Honour, I do. He’s here, in fact, up in the galleries.”

“Brave man, him.”

“Bravest man I know. Bravest man either Mr Holmes or I know, kindest, too.”

“And what did he think of this ... mess?”

“He was not very amused.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“He suggested that I pay a visit to our kickboxing studio if I was really that bored.”

“Well, Mr Moriarty, next time, I’d listen to your boyfriend.” The judge picked up his gavel and called another recess. “This court is adjourned until tomorrow morning.”

“All rise.” The bailiff called out, and everyone got to their feet as the judge left again once Jim had been lead away by Mycroft’s people. John just sighed and left the courthouse.

 

It was quiet for the rest of the day, he and Seb got a few more boxes moved. During the interval between Jim breaking into The Tower of London and the trial, they had heard back from their real estate agent. All of the papers that needed Jim’s signature had been signed either by Jim or by Seb acting as a proxy and the Wadham Gardens house was theirs. The previous owners had been more than happy to give John and Jim immediate ownership, they weren’t even living in the house at the time of sale and all of the furniture belonged to a staging firm. While Jim was cooling his heels in an MI-6 holding-cell and minding his own damn business, for once, John and Seb had gotten a head start on some of the renovations. Everything in the basement was getting renovated, from the garage to the swimming pool. _That_ was getting moved above-ground to the back garden, they were already digging the pit for it and the plumbing trenches had been laid in. The existing pool had been drained and filled in and they were going turn it into the armoury with a command centre to rival Q’s set-up at MI-6, the gym and adjacent open space would become a private cinema with a fully-stocked bar, and what _had_ been a fifth bedroom had been knocked out to expand the garage further.  They had started by knocking out the walls, adding support beams where necessary, and taking out the pool after it had been drained. Once every piece of concrete and plumbing had been removed or capped off, they brought in several tons of fill-dirt and filled in the pool-trench before laying a new slab, which took several more tons of concrete that was mixed and poured in stages. While the basement was being renovated, John was slowly moving his things and Jim’s from storage and from Baker Street and Macaulay Road into the house that would be their home. Whatever they _didn’t_ have already was purchased and slowly the house became more and more a home.

 

The next morning, just as he had the previous two days, John sat in on Jim’s trial with Seb, Mycroft, and Greg. Today was the Defence’s turn on the stand, and John had no idea what to expect.

“Mr Crayhill, can we have your first witness?” The judge asked once the session had been called to order. The defending barrister, a nervous, haughty bloke in an ill-fitting suit and too much hair-product, rose to his feet.

“Your Honour, we’re not calling any witnesses.” There were cries of surprise around the court, and John – sitting in the public gallery again – frowned. What was going on?

“I don’t follow.” The judge said, openly puzzled. “You’ve entered a plea of Not Guilty.”

“Nevertheless, my client is offering no evidence. The defence rests.” Crayhill sat down again. Jim pursed his lips ruefully at the judge, then turned and looked up towards the public gallery.

“Jim, what the hell are you doing?” John murmured. The judge summoned both barristers and they spoke in whispered tones no one overheard. After a few minutes and some gesturing, the barristers returned to their tables and the judge turned to the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which – if he’s found guilty – will elicit a very long custodial sentence; and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea.” Which was very unusual. “I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty.”

“Guilty.” John closed his eyes, repeating that one hateful word to himself in a whisper.

“You _must_ find him guilty.” With a strike of the gavel, the court adjourned at 10:42. John looked at his watch to mark the time and left the courtroom. He paced a bit, got a drink from a bubbler, visited the loo, and basically tried not to panic.

 

At 10:50, eight minutes after the jury retired for deliberation, John was sitting on a bench just outside the courtroom when the Clerk of the Court hurried out of a side room.

“They’re coming back.” He said a bit breathlessly. John looked at his watch.

“That’s six minutes.” John took into account how long it took the jury to leave the court and go to their allocated room, but it still ... it didn’t quite add up.

“Surprised it took them that long, to be honest.” The Clerk shrugged. “There’s a queue for the loo.” He hurried into the courtroom. John stood up, took a moment to brace himself and then followed. He found his seat and settled to wait for whatever was coming. A few minutes later the Clerk rose to his feet and turned to face the jury.

“Have you reached a verdict on which you all agree?” One of the jury members lowered his head and shook it in tiny despairing motions as the foreman got to her feet and stared unhappily at the Clerk.

“We the members of the jury, find James R. Moriarty ... Not. Guilty.” The whole room exploded and John was stunned. Had they actually just ... what had just happened? The judge seemed to contemplate this declaration and lifted his gavel.

“Concluding the case of Crown versus Moriarty, I sentence the Defendant to two months of public service with a charity from a list you will be provided, a donation in a set sum to one of the same charities, full monetary reparations for the damages to Jewel House, and a handwritten letter of promise to fulfil these obligations.” He looked at Jim, made direct eye-contact, and brought his gavel down. “Mr Moriarty, I never want to see you in this courtroom again. I would highly suggest you make your escape while the getting is good, listen to your boyfriend next time, and find a better legal team.”

“Yes, Your Honour. Thank you.” Jim just nodded and left with his escort. John was halfway out the door by then, shoving through clusters of excited people. He found his phone and dialled a number on his phone that he usually texted. But this warranted a phone-call.

“Come on, come on. Answer your goddamn phone.” He muttered as he paced a quiet stretch of hallway. Finally, before it could ring to voicemail or he hung up to try again, it clicked over.

 _“What? I’m busy.”_ The blunt salutation was so normal and so refreshing.

 _“_ _Not Guilty. They found him Not Guilty.”_ John chuckled, a slightly hysterical sound. _“_ _No defence, and Jim’s walked free.”_

_“You must be so relieved. Have you seen him yet?”_

_“No, not since Mycroft’s people escorted him from the courtroom.”_ He sighed, shaking his head with one hand over his eyes. _“I can’t believe it, Sherlock. I can’t fucking believe it. I thought he would ... I thought they would ... ”_

_“John.”_

_“What?”_

_“Calm down.”_ He could see the smile on Sherlock’s face. _“Calm down, take a deep breath or two, and go find your boyfriend. Give the press a show.”_

 _“Go public?”_ He raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like his relationship with Jim Moriarty was any secret in London, they were in the tabloids every other week in “are they/aren’t they” gossip columns.

 _“Go very public. Show them you’ll stand by him no matter what. Come hell or high water, you are with Jim Moriarty through the_ _good and the bad._ _Because you have been with him through this, and you will be with him going forward_ _.”_

 _“Thanks, Sherlock.”_ John smiled and looked over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps. Not Jim, Seb.

“Captain. They’re waiting.”

“Yeah. Coming.” He nodded to show he’d heard.

_“Sherlock, I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”_

_“Should I watch the telly?”_

_“Or you can just ask your brother for the CCTV feed.”_ He smiled. _“Give Molly our love.”_

_“I’ll do that. She’s busy with Mr Spencer just at the moment, but I’ll give her the news as soon as she’s available.”_

_“My regards to Mr Spencer’s internal organs.”_ John snickered and hung up with Sherlock, knowing that the conversation they’d just had should not be normal for them and ever so grateful that it was. Pocketing his phone, John followed Seb and they caught up with Mycroft and Greg, who had been joined by the MI-6 guard detail and their grateful charge.

“Not Guilty?”

“That’s what they said.” Jim just smiled and took John’s hands as he fussed a bit with his tie. “Stop it.”

“I’m not sorry.” He shook his head. “Jesus, I thought ... ”

“I know what you thought.” Jim turned so they were side-by-side, lacing his fingers through John’s. “You’re very easy to read when you’re distressed, did you know that?”

“Only if someone is paying attention.” He sniffed. “Let’s get out of here.”

“This way, gents.” Greg indicated the doors leading out to the street. It wasn’t long before they were leaving the courthouse together. There was, of course, a swarm of media waiting outside across the street, and the clamouring began when they showed themselves. Mycroft and Greg were in the lead, they were surrounded by the detail, and ignored the questions shouted at them.

 

At the Jag, which Seb had parked nearby, they stopped and turned to the gathered press. But instead of saying anything, Jim and John looked at each other and just smiled.

“Shall we give them something to talk about?”

“Help yourself.” Jim just smiled, that soft, affectionate smile he saved for John.

“Don’t mind if I do.” John turned so there was no space between them and without looking at anyone else, laid one on his boyfriend. He would have to change that. Soon.

“Where to, gents?” Seb asked as he held the door for them, highly amused at the reaction they had gotten out of the press for that last stunt.

“Camden, Seb.” John said as he got in behind Jim. He wanted to show Jim the house, what had already been done and what was still being completed.

“What’s in Camden?”

“Progress.” He just smiled. “It’s not quite ready, but I want you to see all the progress.”

“Move-in day will be more special now.” Jim reached over and took his hand. “I wonder how I got away with that.”

“Mycroft, probably.”

“You think so?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him.” John shrugged. Jim chuckled and messed with John’s fingers, he did that sometimes when they were holding hands. 

 

When they reached the Camden house, John got out first when Seb held the door for them and gave Jim a hand out. The construction foreman came out of the house as they arrived and shook hands with Seb and John.

“The basement’s all finished up if you want to take a look, Mr Moriarty.”

“Oh, good.”

“And we’re ready to lay the pool.”

“Excellent. Good work, Mr Zahn.” Jim nodded, smiled in that subtly threatening way of his, and they went inside. Going down to the basement, they got their first look at the finished space. The garage was now two cars deep with room for three cars, two end-to-end and one in a side-stall where the cinema and fifth bedroom had been before. Proper ventilation had been installed as necessary, of course. And where the pool had been before had been completely transformed. The pool had been filled in and that space had become the armoury and command centre for the house, the only thing it was missing was a firing range.

“We have an awful lot of top-grade tech.” Jim explored the work-stations, picking up pieces of equipment before putting them back. “Where did we get all of this?”

“Q helped plan the layout and provisioning for this part of the house. We have top-grade security measures, they’ll be activated as soon as all of the renovations are complete and before we move in.” John leaned against one of the maintenance stations. “Full-perimeter CCTV, latest facial-rec software, AV on the doorbell, remote-lock systems on every door in the house, everything you’ve seen in the basement is essentially a safe-room. In the event it might be necessary, we can completely seal off this part of the house.”

“You built me a panic-room?” Jim raised an eyebrow.

“We built you a panic-room. We have enough rations and gear stocked to last two months, back-up generators if the power goes out, and enough ammunition to arm a small militia.” He shrugged, “This is one of the most secure residences in London. Nothing but the best for you, Foxy.”

“Astór, you _spoil_ me!” Jim just lit up and nearly knocked John back off his feet when he threw both arms around him. “Is this what you’ve been doing while I was locked up?”

“More or less.” John chuckled and held onto Jim to hold himself upright. “Do you like it?”

“It’s amazing! I love you!”

“You’re welcome.”

“God, I love you.”

“I know.” John just smiled as Jim leaned in to touch foreheads with him.

“Thank you, John.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Thank you.” Jim brought one hand up to the back of John’s neck, fingers sliding into his hair and tightening just a bit. He knew Jim was just trying to ground himself, trying to reassure himself that this was really happening, that he wasn’t dreaming or in danger of being hauled back to prison. He sighed and leaned up a bit, rubbing his cheek against Jim’s, turning his head to make contact.

“Hey. I’m here, Jim. It’s okay now. It’s going to be okay.”

“Oh, John.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m right here.” He used one hand to direct Jim and kissed his boyfriend. It worked to distract him and ground him, and the desperate, soft sound he made was heartbreaking. They would have to get used to having each other around again after six weeks apart, but John would wait however long he needed to for Jim.

“Let’s go home. Let me take you home and take care of you.”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Come on, you.” He put one arm around Jim and looked around. “The next time we come to this house will be move-in day.”

“Our house?”

“Our house.” He smiled and leaned in to touch noses with his boyfriend, “Our home.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Mm. Jim Moriarty isn’t settling _down_ , is he?”

“Oh, Christ no.”

“Good. Because the rest of us would get bored, and you know what happens when Sherlock gets _bored_.”

“Yes, yes I do know what happens when Sherlock gets bored.” That got a smile from Jim, so that was something.

“He shoots holes in the Evidence Wall and you break into The Tower of London. Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t do that again.”

“Thank you.” He squeezed Jim’s hand and they returned to the Jag.

 

Seb drove them to one of Jim’s London residences, a penthouse in Mayfair, where they would stay until further notice. They took a night in, ordered from Angelo’s for dinner, and marathoned The Lord of the Rings, all three films from start to finish. John had never been able to watch a movie or television show and really enjoy it with Sherlock around, but Jim had no problem leaving John to his devices during the day and coming back to find him in the middle of an hours-long binge-watch of whatever he was currently watching. American true-crime documentaries were a favourite, but he was always telling Jim “Don’t get any ideas!” when they watched together and solved the case before the detectives.

“Aw, you started without me?!” Jim appeared with two bottles of beer and a bowl of popcorn just as the opening scenes played for The Fellowship of the Ring.

“Sit down! You’re missing it!” He rolled his eyes and took the bottles, patting the couch next to him. John just smiled when Jim displaced Tinker Bell, who was _not_ very happy about that and expressed her displeasure to unsympathetic ears.

“I know you missed us, Princess, but its Adult Time now. Go lay down.” John said, giving her a nudge towards the bedrooms with one foot after offering a fuss. For such a small dog, she had an awful lot of attitude and promptly gave them cold shoulder as she disappeared towards the master bedroom. Nothing of value was within reach, but it was without question _something_ would be destroyed.

 

During a break, John checked on Tinker Bell and found her curled up in her bed, surrounded by the remains of one of her toys and a shredded fleece blanket. Typical. Shaking his head, he returned to the reception room and took his seat back, which quickly led to Jim draping his legs across John’s lap.

“Well?”

“Lost a toy and a blanket. Nothing of ours got wrecked this time.”

“ _This_ time.” Jim rolled his eyes at that and got comfortable.

 

That night, John slept within reach but not touching. He wasn’t sure how Jim would react to being in a real bed with another person with him, and didn’t want to risk him lashing out in his sleep. John was glad to have Jim back, but he didn’t want to overwhelm him or drive him away out of misplaced desperation. It wasn’t fair to either of them.


	11. All For A Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial's over, things start to settle down. Life goes back to routine, but normal is relative.

* * *

* * *

With Jim free on verdict, they settled into a new routine. It was very much like when they had first started dating, the process of getting used to each other and feeling out how each reacted to different things. They weren’t quite starting over, but John still took it slow. Holding hands was a good start, a good, neutral way to make contact with his boyfriend. As time passed and the days turned to weeks, John noticed Jim coming out of his shell more and more. Instead of only John initiating intimacies, Jim stepped up his game. Jim would occasionally ask for more, and they would cuddle or engage in a bit of low-scale public intimacy depending on where they were. His efforts came up as mid-afternoon kidnappings for lunch, deliveries of food to his desk if he couldn’t get away, and flower arrangements to brighten up his office. All while Jim carried out his community service obligations. He had settled on a dog rescue charity and worked with British Dalmatian Welfare. That made John a little jealous, he absolutely adored Dalmatians, had owned them as a lad, and he listened with longing as Jim shared stories of the work he did. And Jim shared quite often, both stories and photographs.

 

John continued to work at the clinic, as he had throughout the whole of Jim’s incarceration and the trial. John’s patients knew better than to bring it up in conversation and his co-workers learned very quickly not to mention it aside from asking how they were getting on. He went about his business and ignored the people who wondered why he stayed with a criminal like Jim Moriarty when he could do so much better. But really, he _couldn’t_ do better and he didn’t _want_ to do better. Jim needed people like John, more now than ever, and he would happily walk away from his job if they questioned his abilities because of his loyalties. Loyalty was everything when it seemed the world was against you, and as a soldier, John knew the value of having people you could trust around you.

 

One thing John did in his spare time was research and order a ring for Jim to give him whenever the time was right. He settled on a Damascus steel ring with a 2mm rose gold inlay and an acid finish that gave it an etched appearance. After choosing the ring he wanted and making sure he ordered the right size, John chose the rush option for production and shipping to make sure he got it before move-in day. He probably wouldn’t give Jim the ring that very day, but he wanted to have it on hand so he didn’t have to worry about it. He had made a promise to stay with Jim, he would keep that promise come hell or high water and there was no changing his mind. And no one who mattered would try to.

 

One day, towards the end of his work-day, John was taking a minute to breathe. It had been a very long clinic-day in which he had been solidly double-booked, and he had contemplated exercising violence upon certain of his co-workers and patients more than once. At the moment, he was recovering from seeing to Mr Steder, or rather from letting Paul Stanger see to Mr Steder. He really ought to transfer Steder to Stanger’s patient-roster, save himself this misery. So when Marie came in with his next patient, he wasn’t exactly in the best mood.

“Doctor Watson, your next patient.”

“Thank you, Marie.” He sighed and focused on his computer while Marie let their patient in. Sometimes he really hated this job.

“Mr Steder giving you a hard time again, John?” He knew that voice.

“Oh, Molly!” He looked up sharply. “Oh, thank Christ it’s you!” Forgetting his troublesome patients, John got to his feet and went around his desk to hug Molly Hooper.

“Bad day, sweetie?”

“That’s one word for it, love. How are you?” He looked her over, “I know I saw you this morning, but I need to ask.”

“I’m alright, John. I’m just ... tired.” Molly just smiled and squeezed his hand. “I promise.”

“Well, let’s see what’s to be seen, shall we?” He put an arm around her shoulders and steered her towards the cubicle. “See how our little one is doing today?”

“Yes, please.”

“You know the drill, love.” He took down the gowns and drapes for Molly and stepped out to let her get changed in privacy. Marie went to get the ultrasound machine, back in no time. She had company, and John just raised an eyebrow at the tall boffin who followed his nurse into the office.

“I thought you were helping Greg in Whitechapel.”                     

“I was. This is more important.” Sherlock said quietly, shedding his coat and hanging it on the coat tree. “I promised, John.”

“I know.” He looked over his shoulder at the cubicle, “You’re always welcome unless she says otherwise.”

“Thank you, John. For ... taking care of Molly. We’re both so grateful. I don’t know if I would trust anyone else with her.”

“I’m happy to have her, Sherlock. She’s one of my favourite patients.”

“You’re certainly her favourite doctor.”

“It’s mutual.” He smiled. “Molly?”

“You can come in! Is that Sherlock?”

“Yes, he made it.”

“Good!”

“Come on, you.” John headed for the cubicle with Sherlock in close tow and got started. Thankfully, everything was perfect for gestational age, and he offered to give them the baby’s gender, as they had decided to refrain from knowing on every prior visit.

“If you want to know, I’d be more than happy to tell you.”

“Would it make a difference? We’ve already finished the nursery and the baby is due any day now.”

“It might help you decide on a name.” He shrugged, “It’s up to you.” Sherlock and Molly looked at each other and then at John. They nodded and John smiled, moving the transducer to the proper location.

“Let’s see if we can get a good view, or if our little one has decided to cross their legs again.”

“Again?”

“This child lacks your flamboyance, Sherlock, modest as a monk,” John said with a chuckle as the image showed up on the screen. “Ah, you little pest. Playing hard-to-get again, aren’t you?”

“Stubborn little thing, aren’t they?” Sherlock was beaming.

“Do you mind if I try something?” John had non-invasive ways of getting a foetus to change position, so he looked at Molly for permission, who blushed and nodded. He had done it before, but never for this specifically. He ran the fingers of one hand across Molly’s stomach in a particular pattern, pressing down in certain places, and they watched the baby flinch and move on the screen.

“Come on, you. Just a peek. Don’t be like your father on a strop.” He murmured, grinning at the indignant noise Sherlock made. Finally, after a bit of coaxing, the baby turned and gave them a perfect view of the genitals.

“Oh, and there we go! Well, Sherlock, congratulations and my condolences!” He quickly took several images. “If she’s anything like the two of you, she’ll be bloody gorgeous!”

“Oh, my god.” Sherlock blinked, “It’s a girl?”

“And she’ll be one of the healthiest I’ve seen in a long while.”

“Will, um. John, will _you_ be the one who ... ”

“Yes, I will. If that’s alright with you?” He finished the scan and started cleaning up, sending a handful of images to print as he always did.

“I would insist if you weren’t involved.” Sherlock just held Molly’s hand, almost mesmerized. “I wasn’t aware you practised obstetrics.”

“Until Molly showed up on my roster, it wasn’t part of my regular practice.” John pushed back from the bed and stripped off his gloves, tossing them into the bin. He printed off the pictures and Marie took the scanner away while John coaxed Sherlock out to let Molly get dressed again.

“Here, these are for you.” He held out the new images to Sherlock.

“It doesn’t ... seem real.  Is that normal?”

“Yes, it is. Don’t worry, you’ll be great.” He promised as Sherlock went through the pictures. “Have you thought up any names?”

“I like Regina, Molly likes Constance.”

“Oh, those are lovely.” He leaned against his desk, arms across his chest, as Molly came out again once she was dressed. Sherlock, of course, went right to her side and made sure she didn’t need anything. No, she was fine for now. John smiled, it was nice to see Sherlock be sweet with Molly.

 

When they left, he saw them out to the desk and down to the street. A car waited at the kerb and he knew it was either Seb or Charles. The driver-side door popped open when they appeared and Seb darted around the car to hold the door for Molly and Sherlock.

“Mr Holmes. Doctor Hooper.”

“Thank you, Seb.” Sherlock just smiled and looked at the nearby cameras.

“I’ll see you in a week, sweetie,” John said as he gave Molly a hug. “But feel free to call if you need something before then. Anything.”

“Thanks, John.” Molly looked at him, her expression soft and open. “I think I can wait one more week, but you never know.”

“Let Seb get you home safe, alright? I’ll see you later.”

“Okay. Have a good night, John.”

“I’ll do my best. Get on home.” He held the door for them and as soon as they were both in, he closed the door and looked over the roof of the car at Seb. “You know the rules, Seb. Get them back to Baker Street safe and make sure she rests.”

“Absolutely!” Seb looked a little insulted John had to even bring it up. “You and Jim would both have my head if I didn’t! Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of them.”

“Thanks, Seb. I’ll see you in a few.”

“Sooner than you think, John. Try not to kill anyone?”

“That’s _your_ job, Seb.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes, waving Seb off even as he hopped into the car and got underway. Once they were at the end of the street, John sighed and went back inside. The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough, he knew the wait would be excruciating.

 

Two hours later, John clocked out for the day and locked up his office as he left.

“Good night, ladies, see you on Monday!” He called to the women gathered at the circulation desk. “Have a good weekend!”

“Good night, Doctor Watson!” They chimed, dissolving into giggles as he stepped past the desk. It wasn’t hard to see why, Jim was waiting for him, quietly minding his own business and not getting in anyone’s way. John chuckled and adjusted the strap of his work-bag as he crossed the waiting area to his boyfriend. Well, so much for Seb coming to get him.

“Hello, you.” He said softly as Jim, dressed quite casually today, rose smoothly to his feet as John reached him.

“Hello to you, my love.” Jim held out one hand. “Long day, was it?”

“You heard from Sherlock and Molly?”

“Oh did I hear from them!” An eye roll said quite a bit about his thoughts. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that, John, not by anyone. Why do you put up with it?”

“I don’t. I’m seriously considering just dumping Jeremiah Steder on Paul’s roster permanently and saving myself the misery.”

“And inflict that ungrateful man’s venom on someone else?”

“Stanger can handle him. He’s kind of the only one of us who _can_ , I think.” John wrinkled his nose, “But it wasn’t all bad news today.”

“How is Molly?”

“Tired, sore, but happy. Sherlock is, of course, quietly frantic.”

“Of course.” Jim just smiled and took John’s hand as they left the office together. “What were his twenty questions of the day?”

“Well, really only one that mattered.”

“Oh?”

“He wanted to make sure I would be the one in the delivery room with Molly.”

“And you said?”

“Absolutely.”

“As it should be.” Jim nodded and they stepped into the lift, holding the door for another patient just leaving. They weren’t one of John’s patient’s, they were with the clinic across the hall and two doors down from his, but he was familiar enough with them to be friendly if they encountered each other in passing.

“Good afternoon, Mr Sykes. How’s the knee today?”

“It’s quite fine, Doctor Watson!” The old man who had more history in the armed forces than just about anyone else John knew, just looked at him and beamed. “How are you, then, sir? Long day, was it?”

“I’m grateful it’s a Friday, sir.”

“You deserve a few days to yourselves.” He nodded in agreement. “Any plans for the weekend, lads?”

“Mm, nothing spectacular.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Patrick Sykes looked over at Jim and his expression turned sly. “You should do something about making sure this man of yours isn’t mistaken for a bachelor much longer, Mr Moriarty. some undeserving broad could sneak in and snap him up before you’ve got the time to blink!”

“Time and place, Colonel Sykes,” Jim said reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I have plans.”

“Oh, _you_ have plans?” John rolled his eyes. “ _You_ have plans, do you?”

“Of course I do! Plans within plans and contingencies for each of them!”

“That’s news to _me_.” He said primly, “I thought I was the only one who had the wherewithal to plan ahead for anything!”

“Oh, do you _see_ this, Colonel? What kind of attitude is _that_ , sir!”

“Oh, you boys keep me young! Go on with you!” Sykes burst out laughing as the lift stopped on the ground floor and he shoved them out of the lift when the doors opened. “Off with you! Go on, and stay out of trouble, no mischief!”

“What if no one gets hurt and I don’t destroy any buildings or landmarks?” Jim just gave the old Pensioner a charming smile.

“If only I believed you, Mr Moriarty!” Sykes shook his head as they held the doors for him. “If only I believed you! Whatever does happen, you _must_ tell me at the soonest! Next week, Doctor Watson, you must tell me everything!”

“Get in line, Colonel, there’s a bit of a queue waiting for that!” John laughed as he waved down a passing taxi and opened the door for Sykes. “Our best to your wife, sir!”

“She’ll be thrilled to hear from you both. Good luck, boys!” Sykes shook hands with them and got into the taxi while Jim went around and gave the driver the proper address. Once the taxi was on its way, the fare already paid for, John looked at Jim and they broke into a fit of giggles. There were just certain people they had come to know who reminded them on the regular that there were good, genuine people in the world. Patrick and Mareena Sykes were some of those people, and John was ever so glad to know them. It wasn’t a bad way to end what  _had_ been a long, somewhat stressful week. John personally couldn’t wait to get home and take a hot shower. Maybe a hot bath was in order? Could he coax Jim into joining him? That idea held promise.

* * *

* * *

 


	12. Home Of My Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's move-in day for the boys and Jim has a special surprise for John!

* * *

* * *

Desperate to go home and put the week behind him, John looked for any of their cars parked along the kerb. He spotted the Range Rover just down the way a bit and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, so Seb _did_ do the driving?”

“Insisted.”

“Where’s the Jag?”

“Parked at the house, of course.” Jim took his hand with a smile. “One of the “visible” cars, he insisted.”

“That’s ... not my Rover, is it?” His was much newer than the one sitting at the kerb. And even Seb knew better than to borrow the keys. Jim was allowed to drive John’s car, but no one else was, and they all knew that.

“No, no. That’s Douglas’s Rover.” Jim reassured him as Seb popped out and opened the back passenger door for them. “Yours is safely parked, I swear.”

“ _Where_? I get the feeling none of our cars are parked in Clapton.”

“Where else?”

“Camden?” John frowned.

“But of course!”

“Oh my God.” He suddenly understood and looked at Jim, stunned. “You’re kidding!”

“I kid not. Come on, you, let’s go home!”

“Christ, it’s really done? It’s all ... ?”

“All done and finished, and it’s gorgeous. I’d even say it’s perfect, but not just yet.”

“Oh, my god.” Just the idea that they were going home to the Camden house and _that_ would be their destination from now on was ... it was a little overwhelming, honestly, but John was thrilled.

“And, I’m free of my obligation to the Welfare.”

“You’re going to miss it.” He smiled, knowing how much Jim had enjoyed working with BDW even if he never admitted it to anyone else.

“Of course I am.”

“But at least I won’t have to be jealous of you getting to spend all of your free time with those gorgeous dogs.”

“And we thought Tinker Bell was a jealous little thing!” Seb cracked a smile as they climbed into the car. “Oh, but you put her to proper shame, son!”

“Shut up, Seb.” John rolled his eyes. Yes, he’d been jealous, but with good fucking reason.

“What are you complaining about?” Jim just raised an eyebrow at him. “You decided, on your own, to join me because you wanted in on the action!”

“So what?” He folded his arms across his chest.

“You wanted to give them a home, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did! I told you, I used to own them! My family raised them when I was a child!” He sniffed, looking out the window. “I’d give anything to own one again.”

“Anything?”

“I would marry you tomorrow for a Dalmatian of my own, Jim Moriarty.”

“You would?”

“Absolutely.” He thought of the ring-box he had carried around for long enough he was ready to hand it over, but kept waiting for “The Moment”.

“You’ve had a long week, haven’t you?”

“A bit of one.”

“Camden, sir?” Seb asked as they navigated the crowded streets of London.

“Camden, Seb.” Jim took John’s hand in his and just smiled. “It’s time to go home.”

“Yes, sir.” That got them a bit of a knowing smile in the rear-view, and John wondered what Jim had planned. His boyfriend clearly had something in mind, John had been around him long enough to know, but he also knew better than to ask. Besides, occasional surprises were just fine with him. And whatever Jim had planned, it was a surprise. John wouldn’t ask him to ruin it just because he’d had a bad week.

 

The drive from Marylebone to Camden was quiet and seemed to go a little faster than usual. John looked out the window as they made the final turn onto their street.

“Mycroft get bored and mess with the traffic-signals or something?”

“Better  for him to be messing with traffic-signals than starting a war.”

“Again?” He chuckled.

“Mm. I thought that was my job, honestly.”

“So did I. Well, I’m not going to complain.” John sighed as they came up to the house. Seb pressed a remote and they pulled into the driveway once the gates had opened. The car-lift came up at the press of another button and they drove onto the lift. As it descended again, Seb shut the car off after putting it in park. At the moment, John’s Rover and the Z4 were occupying two of the parking spaces in the garage, side by side, just as Jim had said.

“What are we doing down here?” John asked once they were parked.

“You’ll see.” Jim smiled.

“Surprise?”                                          

“Yes, absolutely.”

“And worth your time, Captain!” Seb called as he waited for them. “Come on, you two.”

“Yeah, yeah. Coming.” John rolled his eyes and took Jim’s hand. They passed through the garage, into the basement, through the armoury and command centre, which was completely set-up and running, and up the stairs leading from the basement to the garden. Along the way they lost Seb, that was pretty standard. But at the bottom of the stairs, Jim stopped him.

“Before we go up there, I need you to ... um, I want you to wear this.” He held up a length of cloth, it looked like silk.

“Is that your _tie_?” John took it from him and looked at it. It was, in fact, Jim’s tie. He raised an eyebrow and looked curiously at his boyfriend. “What is this for?”

“It’s a ... blindfold.”

“A blindfold?”

“Yes.”

“I’m guessing whatever is up there, you don’t want me to see it right away?”

“No, I ... don’t.”

“Alright. I trust you.” He smiled and gave the tie back to Jim. “Whatever it is can’t be that dangerous or Seb wouldn’t have left me alone with you.” Jim took the length of silk and carefully tied it on so that John couldn’t see anything, which he honestly couldn’t. He could see light and a bit of the ground, but nothing that would give away anything that might be vital to the surprise.

“Can you see where you’re going?”

“I can’t see what’s right in front of me, but I can see enough of the ground peripherally. I won’t trip over anything, but you’d better lead the way.”

“That’s good enough.” He heard the smile in Jim’s voice and let Jim take his hand. Getting up the stairs wasn’t that hard, he had gone through training just like this in the Army, and by using his sense of spatial awareness and a shuffle-step on each riser, he made it to the top of the stairs with one hand on the handrail and one on Jim. Once they reached the garden, Jim led him to the edge of the patio and told him to stop.

“Stay right there. Don’t move.” Jim let go of his hand and stepped away. “Stay there.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He huffed, wondering what on earth Jim had in mind. Something spectacular and over-the-top, knowing him. That was ... fine with John.

“John, you worked with me at the Welfare, you remember the dogs you liked the most?”

“Yes, of course, I do.” He frowned a bit.

“Do you remember Victor?”

“Yes?”

“You should. You were so crushed when you found out he’d been adopted out.” Jim was somewhere nearby, somewhere ahead of him. “You wanted to bring him home, didn’t you? Out of all the dogs we saw, you wanted him the most.” John just nodded. Victor had been a four-year-old male Dalmatian cross under the Welfare’s care while he and Jim had volunteered for them, with a bit of a sad story. His owners had surrendered him to a shelter when a job-change took them overseas to America and instead of making provisions for Victor, they had abandoned him. He was an altered male, cream with black spots, another breed giving him a bit of bulk most Dals lacked, and just an absolute sweetheart. John had fallen in love with Victor when they first met, and it had been mutual. And Jim was right, he had been a little heartbroken to find out just yesterday that Victor had gone to his forever home, regretting that he hadn’t been quick enough to make sure he got to be Victor’s forever home.

 

After a while, he felt familiar fingers loosen the blindfold and grinned as Jim stroked his hair just once. He liked doing that, and always when he was behind John, just standing, sitting, or laying behind him, or just passing by, he would reach out and drag his fingers through John’s hair. Sometimes John would reach back and catch him by the wrist, hold him still for a minute. He didn’t do that today, as much as he wanted to. Whatever was happening, right now, was important. Oh, so important. John blinked as his eyes adjusted and looked around. At the end of the garden, he saw the pool and knew that moving it above ground had been the best thing they could have done. On the hottest days of London’s summers, that water would be a boon. He admired the perfect landscaping and knew they would have a gardener on hire to maintain the yard for them, it was just part and parcel of what he was getting himself in for. As he got his first look at the finished, landscaped garden, John was distracted by a familiar sound, a dog barking. Looking for the source, he discovered it three feet away. Jim stood nervous and smiling, a little teary-eyed, with a lead in both hands. That lead was attached to a collar fastened around the neck of a dog. Not just a dog, a Dalmatian.

“Victor!” It just kind of burst out of him. He  _knew_ it was Victor, there was no other dog it could possibly be! Jim let Victor off the lead as John dropped to one knee on the patio. Victor, of course, closed the small distance between them in no time at all and almost knocked John over as he tried to sit in his lap.

“Oi, hey! You are not a lap-dog, I’ve told you that before, you silly thing! That’s enough from you!” He laughed, an unsteady sound that got stuck in his throat. “What on earth are you doing _here_ , Victor? Surely you haven’t been turned out of your new home so quickly?”

“No, no, he hasn’t been turned out by anyone,” Jim promised. “We are Victor’s new home now.”

“Oh my god.”

“Victor has something for you.”

“He ... does?”

“On his collar. Look.”

“His collar?” He reached for Victor’s collar, easier said than done with four stone nine of dog sitting on him, and found that there was something attached to the collar. It was a small box, eerily similar to the box in John’s pocket. He removed the box, it took a pretty firm tug, and studied it for a minute. He knew what the box was, he knew what was inside it, but ...

“Oh my god.”

“This is happening, I promise,” Jim said quietly, kneeling beside him with no mind for his suit. “John, I’m no good at this sort of thing, but ... ”

“Jim, are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh.” He tried to get his head around what was happening.

“It’s...silly. I mean, we...I know it hasn’t been long...I...I know we haven’t known each other for a long time...” Jim trailed off, a bit at a loss for words. John knew how hard this must be for him, and smiled. Reaching out, he took Jim’s hand in his after shoving Victor out of the way.

“You, shove over. It’s Adult Time now, you can just bloody well wait your turn.” He hauled his boyfriend to his feet, “And you, up on your feet, you need to sit down properly.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making sure you don’t ask me the most important question of our lives sitting on the ground.” John steered Jim towards the patio-set and sat him down, sitting next to him. Once they were settled, he took Jim’s hand again. Not that he had ever really let go in the first place.

“Go on.” He prompted softly. “You can talk now.”

“As you know, these last couple of months haven’t been easy for me; and meeting you...Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened.” Jim shook his head a bit. “You...you know how bad it’s been for me, and...well...”

“Why are you so nervous, Jim?”

“I just...I realize we’ve been together for four months, living together for four months, and...”

“You know, you’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“Don’t be mean. I’m trying to be serious here.”                                              

“I’m not being mean! You have these little habits when you’re flustered.” He chuckled at his indignation, “You know I love you, right?”

“John.”

“And I’m obligated to pick on you when you get like that.”

“John!”

“Yes, dear?”

“Shut up.”                                                                                

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll marry you.”

“What?"

“Marry me, John Watson.” 

“Are you really asking me to...” He trailed off as Jim dropped carefully to one knee, that box in his hand.

“Please. I’m asking you to be partner to me in everything. Take my name or keep your own, just...please say yes?”

“Oh my God, Jim. Why?”

“Because you’re the most important person in my life. And these last few months made me realize just how important. And how much I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“How did...”

“And if you’ll have me, John Hamish Watson, could you see your way...if you could see your way to saying yes to this idiot and making me the happiest I’ve ever been?”

“What changes between us if I say yes?”

“We have to file the proper papers, of course, and tell any of our friends we want to inform, and I have to put up with badgering for proposing to the blogger of Sherlock Holmes.”

“I already worry about you, but now it’s not my boyfriend or my paramour I’m worried about. Now it’s my fiancé. That’s very important.”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.” Jim took his hand, showing him a simple ring, a gold Claddagh ring, unadorned and simple, it said everything Jim couldn’t find the words to say out loud. “Please, John?”

“Please, what?” John was going to hear those proper words if it was the last thing he did today.

“Please, Doctor Watson. Will you do me an incredible honour and be my husband?”

“I would be absolutely happy to.” He got to his feet and held out his other hand to Jim. “And the honour is mine, Mr Moriarty.” Jim lunged to his feet and John caught him for a proper, if frantic, kiss. They weren’t just boyfriends anymore, a big step had been taken. Now it was John’s turn to make the move. He wasn’t in a rush, of course, but he would make sure Jim remembered the moment John asked him to marry him in turn. He wasn’t sure of how or when, or even where, but it would be memorable. In all of the right ways you want to remember something special.

* * *

* * *

 


	13. Love For His Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go back to whatever normal is for John and Jim, and life is never quite boring.

* * *

* * *

John and Jim spent that weekend together getting settled into the house, introduced Victor to Ajax and Tinker Bell, and debating how to break the news to their very interested friends and family. What little family either of them still had that was either living or they were on speaking terms with. John realized that he honestly had no idea if Jim had any family, and if he _did_ , was he on good terms. John had family, but he was not on good terms with them. At least not enough he would go out of his way to tell them he had gotten engaged or invite them to whatever manner of wedding ceremony they ended up having.

 

When John returned to work the followed Monday, word got out very quickly about his status-change. Jim drove him to work, even going as far as providing breakfast for the staff at the clinic. Biscuits, cupcakes, and coffee were the order of the day and oh if the receptionists’ eyes didn’t get wide when John appeared with his arms full of pastry boxes and Jim behind him with the drink-trays.

“Good morning, ladies!” He called out cheerfully.

“Good morning, Doctor Watson!”

“Doctor Watson, what on earth is that?” Patricia asked suspiciously when she spotted them.

“Breakfast!” He just hefted the boxes with a smile. “Plenty to share!” As he badged himself into the staff and treatment areas, he clearly heard one of the girls whisper “Christ, please tell me he’s not single! That’s not fair!”

“Not single, ladies. Hands off.” He murmured to himself, not loud enough for anyone but Jim to hear. Behind him, Jim chuckled. When they got to the break-room, they took time to lay out the trays.

“They don’t know, Johnny, because they haven’t had a chance to see your ring yet,” Jim said quietly, handing John a cup of coffee and a biscuit. “Come on, you.”

“After you.” John smiled and led the way to his office. He sat down at his desk and brought his computer up, logging into the system and pulling up that day’s schedule. He wasn’t double-booked, but it was damn close.

“Oh, great.” He sighed as he found Jeremiah Steder’s name on his roster.

“Hmm?” Jim watched his expression change. “What’s wrong?”

“I keep forgetting that some of my patients are weekly appointments.”

“Oh, no.” That got him a look of sympathetic understanding. “You don’t have to see Mr Steder already, do you?”

“I swear he’s doing this to rile me, to see if he can make me quit out of spite.”

“Is there anyone who would _miss_ Mr Steder?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never seen anyone but his caretaker with him. And if he does have any family, they’re not on speaking terms.” John narrowed his eyes as he took a sip of coffee and cleared out his email inbox. “Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering.” Jim shrugged, but John could practically _hear_ the wheels turning in his head.

“We’ve talked about this, sweetheart.” He murmured, not missing the slight tilt to Jim’s mouth. Not quite a smile, but damn close. “No, Jim.”

“Aww, you’re no fun.”

“No!”

“Please?”

“My answer is no.” He shook his head, fighting off a full-fledged smile. “No matter how much pretty and doe-eyed begging you do, my answer is still a very firm no.”

“Killjoy.”

“Oh, you love me.” He teased.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Also, I’m too useful to get rid of me and Seb would skin you alive if you did that, so.” He just beamed at his fiancé, who levelled a disgusted look at him but said nothing.

 

The quiet in the office was familiar and comfortable. They were only interrupted when Marie poked her head in ten minutes later.

“Hey!”

“Good morning, Marie.” He looked up at his nurse and smiled. “Did you get your share?”

“Yes! What’s the occasion? You don’t usually spoil us like _this_!”

“Jim was feeling generous this morning.” He checked his schedule and made a face. “Ugh. Don’t tell me Steder is here already?”

“Oh, he’s here.”

“Well, at least I don’t have to wait all day before I have to put up with his unpleasantness.” John sighed and got to his feet, upending his cup to get the last of the coffee.

“I’ll let you get your day started, then.” Jim took that as his cue to exit and collected his coat.

“I’ll walk you out.” John chucked their empty cups into the bin near his desk and double-checked for his badge and phone.

“Around your neck, and right coat pocket, love,” Jim said as _he_ made sure he had his keys and wallet and other valuables.

“Left coat pocket, back left pocket, back right pocket, my dear.” John recited the usual places Jim kept his keys, wallet, and phone.

“Ah, ta.” Jim just smiled as he shrugged into his coat and retrieved his keys. “Come along, Watson!”

“I’ll be back in a bit, Marie.”

“As long as you come back at all.” She rolled her eyes as he followed Jim out of his office.

“I _have_ to come back.” He shot back, flashing her a dangerous smile that just made her chuckle.

“Out!” She gave him a shove. Taking Jim’s hand, he passed by the circulation desk, not missing how Patricia had a plate and cup by her computer. Looking up as they passed, she just smiled at them.

“Thank you, Mr Moriarty! You didn’t have to buy breakfast for all of us.”

“I was feeling particularly carefree this morning, Mrs Garren.” Jim gave Patricia a friendly smile.

“Good weekend, was it?”

“Oh, _very_ good.”

“Well, I hope that good mood got into that one, or the rest of us are going to have a miserable time of things.” Patricia shot John a look. “Especially with Jeremiah Steder first on his roster this morning.”

“I can behave myself, Patricia,” John promised. She just waved them off as the first patients arrived. Dodging any encounters with Steder or anyone else, they returned to where Jim had left the car in order to walk up with John.

“Have I told you how much I love seeing you like this?” Jim leaned against the car as they said goodbye, smiling.

“Like what?” He raised an eyebrow.

“All properly tarted up for work.” Jim reached out and stroked the material of John’s white lab-coat. “You look very professional.”

“Mm. It’s nothing special.”

“Oh, stop that.” That got him an eye-roll. “Well, I need to let you get to work, I suppose.”

“If I want to get anything productive done today?” John grinned, teasing.

“John.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Not that he was, really.

“Have a good day, love. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Absolutely. Stay out of trouble for me.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Good enough. I’ll have my phone with me if you need anything.” He said quietly.

“Always do. Reliable, loyal Watson.” Jim’s smile was soft and wistful.

“Go on, or none of us will get anything useful done.” John matched the smile as Jim took his hand and leaned in to kiss him. After a proper goodbye kiss, John waited until the Z4 was out of sight to go back inside. Returning his office, he got to work. Pasting on a polite smile for Mr Steder, and promising himself he would finally offload the crabby old prick onto Paul Stanger once and for all after today, John took his first patient of the morning.

 

A thoroughly agonizing two and a half hours and three patients later, John closed his office door and heaved a sigh of relief. Marie brought him his next chart and a biscuit as recompense for the misery, as well as a cup of coffee.

“I feel like this should have whiskey in it or something.” He muttered, gulping down half the hot coffee just to remind himself that he could still feel.

“Probably better that it doesn’t, then.” Marie set the file down. “You’ve got a new one today.”

“Oh, no.”

“I got eyes on her, she looks about the same class as Mrs Hudson and Mrs Benson.”

“Oh, thank Christ.” He sighed and ran one hand through his hair.

“Oh.” He would have missed Marie’s soft sound of surprise if he had been anyone else, but he was quite observant and heard the quiet exclamation. “Um, Doctor Watson?”

“Hmm?” He glanced up.

“Wh-um, I hate to pry where I’ve no business asking, but … what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That!” She pointed at his left hand, her eyes wide and her expression baffled. “Is that … ”

“Oh.” He lowered the hand in question and smiled when he caught sight of Jim’s ring. About time someone had noticed and brought it up. “This?”

“Yes! Is that an engagement ring?”

“Yes, it is.” He twisted the ring a bit. “How long have you been waiting to ask me about it?”

“Er, most of the morning, honestly. Did … I mean, I think I know who gave it to you but is that from him?”

“Yes, it is. Jim proposed to me last Friday. Rather creative about it, too.”

“You lucky bastard.” Marie’s expression turned wistful. “Is that what the goodies were for this morning?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder you were in such a good mood when you got to work!” He would be damned if she giggled. “I’m kind of surprised you can stand up at all!”

“Oh, please. You would know, wouldn’t you?”

“Only in the last four months or so, to be honest with you.” Marie blushed. “You get this look about you the morning after a good shag, you kind of walk around with this little grin on your face like you know a great big secret.”

“Which I do.” John just smiled. Very few people knew just how _good_ Jim was in bed, and John wasn’t keen on sharing that with anyone else.

“We really were just glad you’d found somebody Sherlock Holmes couldn’t run off right away. Because Christ knows how many dates he crashed.” She shook her head. “I really am so thrilled for you, John. I’m so glad you found someone who wants to stay.”

“I think he could say the same for himself.” John shrugged and looked at the file on his desk. “Well, shall we?”

“I’ll go get her, you could use a break.”

“Let’s hope I get one, then.” He leaned back in his chair, pushing back from the desk a bit as he stretched. While Marie went to fetch his new patient, John finished his coffee standing by the window that looked out over the street. As he waited, he looked over the chart.

“Let’s see here. What am I up against today?” He took a sip of coffee as he leaned against the windowsill. Standard wellness check, nothing particularly alarming stood out to him in the admitting paperwork. Fairly typical complaints for an elderly patient: achy joints, fussy digestion, and the likes. Nothing he couldn’t handle. Generally, when dealing with a new patient or referral, he just talked to them during the first visit and got a feel for what they had really come to see him for, what they were expecting from him. New patients were usually hit or miss on behaviour, he could always hope for the best.

“This way, please, Mrs Scott!” Marie was back, holding the door for his patient, one Cliona Scott. “Doctor Watson will be with you momentarily if you’ll just step in here.”

“Oh, thank you, m’dear!” Oh, Christ, John thought _his_ accent had a bad habit of introducing itself to people! Never mind! He glanced over the face-sheet again and focused on the name and date-of-birth, the important things he needed immediately. Cliona Rhioban Scott, born 1st January 1937. Her address was given somewhere in London, but that accent placed her from somewhere else quite a distance from where they were right now. Ireland? Not Dublin, it didn’t sound right to him. Further north, then. Belfast? Setting the chart down, he chucked his now-empty cup into the bin and sat down as Marie stepped in behind Mrs Scott.

“Doctor Watson, your next patient.”

“Thank you, Marie.” He glanced up from pulling up an encounter report on his computer. Marie was giving him an inquiring look. Did she need to stay, or could he handle this one? He gave an imperceptible nod and she took her leave.

“I’ll be just outside if you need anything else, Doctor Watson,” Marie said smoothly.

“Thank you, Marie, I’ll give a holler if needs must.” He waited for the door to close before getting to his feet.

“Hello, Mrs Scott. I’m Doctor Watson. How are you this morning?”

“Oh, I’m fine! Better off than you, young man!” The seventy-four-year-old woman sized him up and narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you’re one of _those_ , then, aren’t you?” John bit his tongue and gave her a neutral, polite smile. She hadn’t insulted him yet.

“Would you like to sit down, Mrs Scott?”

“Thank you, son.” She took the indicated seat as he went around his desk.

“Let me take your coat for you, Mrs Scott. I’m afraid you and I have some chit-chatting to get done this morning.”

“Well, that’s alright!” She surrendered her coat and purse to him. “Such a polite young man, aren’t you! Better manners than half the lot!”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’m afraid my mother would beg to differ quite loudly.” He grimaced at the thought of his departed mother. “God rest her soul.”

“Don’t all mothers?” A sly, knowing smile for that one. John stifled a chuckle as he returned to his desk.

“I don’t suppose you would like anything to drink, Mrs Scott? Tea? Water?”

“If I thought I might have a shot at a decent cuppa, I’d take one! But these places are worse than hospitals or police stations for swill!”

“Oh, you don’t know that.” He grinned and headed for the little single-cup brewer he kept in his office just because of that very reason. “Would you _like_ a cup of tea, Mrs Scott?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, dear.”

“Not at all!” It looked like John was getting that break he’d wanted. He decided chamomile was in order and fixed up two cups the way he usually took his. If there was one thing John was good at, it was fixing a cup of tea. Giving one to Mrs Scott, he sat down at his computer and they got to business.

 

They kept it quite professional and John gave her the discharge papers when they were done, walking her to the desk so she could make any follow-ups she desired to keep with him.

“Mrs Scott, it was a true pleasure, I hope I’ll be seeing you again soon.” He offered her one hand as they stood by the desk.

“Oh, don’t you worry your head, young man. You’ve not seen the last of me!” She just smiled and patted him on the cheek. His schedule for next week was a bit wonky, but when Mrs Scott insisted on taking whatever available times he did have, John suspected it was just the beginning of a very unusual, pleasant professional relationship. He certainly didn’t mind at all.

 

The rest of the day went at about standard pace and John clocked out when it was time to go home. Seb drove him home and he kept his phone on him. For all this week, he was on-call at St Mary’s Hospital, but he wasn’t about to sleep in the hospital if he didn’t need to. That night, he cooked dinner for Jim, Seb, and Douglas and made sure his phone was fully charged before he went to bed. John slept until midnight when a call pulled him out of bed and he spent the rest of the night at the bedside of a three-year-old child who had been admitted with high fever and vomiting. In the interim, he saw to other patients, but he remained at the hospital until morning. After doing his hospital rounds, he took a shower and returned to the office for clinic. Jim met him there with coffee, he grabbed a biscuit left over from yesterday and swore to get a few minutes of shut-eye at some point.

* * *

* * *

 


	14. Welcome Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Baker Street family gets a bit bigger. An eagerly-awaited new arrival comes along and John's day at the office gets quite a bit more interesting and exciting.

* * *

* * *

Three days later, John was eyeballs deep in charting and a full clinic schedule on top of his call-schedule and rounds when his desk-phone rang. He knew what they were calling about even before he answered the phone and sighed.

 _“Harley Street Health, this is Doctor Watson?”_ He gave his standard salutation and kept charting.

_“Hello, Doctor Watson, this is Meredith Blake at Alec Bourne, St Mary’s. I’m so sorry to bother you, I know your schedule today is rather full.”_

_“No worries, Meredith.”_ He smiled and shifted the receiver between his shoulder and ear. _“What can I do for you?”_

 _“Well, I thought I’d better give you a ring-up to let you know that one of your patients has just been admitted to our ward here at St Mary’s Hospital.”_ That got his attention good and proper and he set down his biro. He only had one obstetrics patient at the moment.

_“Molly Hooper’s been admitted?”_

_“Yes, sir, she has been.”_

_“Thank you for calling, I’ll be over there in … ten minutes.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Oh, Meredith?”_

_“Yes, sir?”_

_“Did her husband come in with her?”_

_“Er. No, sir, I … er, no, he did not.”_

_“No worry. I’ll drum him up.”_ John was already on the move. He knew exactly how to get hold of Sherlock and wondered if Molly had tried to reach him, waited as long as she could, and then just given up and gotten herself to the hospital somehow. God bless Molly. Had she taken a cab, or had someone driven her? One way to find out. Wondering where she had come from, suspecting Baker Street was the most likely culprit, he hung up with the admissions nurse over at St Mary’s Hospital and shut down his computer. John collected his coat, made sure he had his wallet, phone, and gun, and grabbed his work-bag, shoving a couple of outstanding charts into it for later. On his way out the door, he stopped by the circulation desk.

“Patricia?”

“Yes, Doctor Watson?” She looked up as he set a stack of completed files on the desk. “Oh, where are _you_ going?” She looked a little surprised to see him all set to leave for the day.

“Molly Hooper’s been admitted at St Mary’s. Can you do me a huge favour and move any of my remaining patients for today to other days?”

“Absolutely, Doctor Watson!” Patricia just smiled at him. “Good luck! And do give Doctor Hooper our best?”

“I absolutely will, Patricia.” John smiled as he shrugged into his coat.

“Watson! Where are you going?” Stacey Vander approached the desk with a similar stack of files.

“Got a call from St Mary’s. Duty calls.”

“Again?”

“This one, I don’t mind.” He smiled, “It’s for Doctor Hooper this time.”

“Oh! Good for her! Poor thing is more than ready, isn’t she?” Vander shook her head. “Well, good luck, you’re in for a long one.”

“Says who? This could take hours or it could go quick.” John just shrugged and waved to the ladies as he left the office. Getting to his car, he hopped in and checked his time. Getting underway, he dialled Sherlock’s number on his phone and waited for him to pick up.

 _“What? I’m busy, is it important?”_ Typical. John snickered and glanced at his clock.

 _“Well, I don’t know what your definition of “important” is, Holmes, but personally, I think the birth of your child is pretty fucking important.”_ He said calmly.

_“What?”_

_“I’m fairly certain that whatever you’re doing right this minute can probably be put on hold. I’m on my way to St Mary’s right now, Molly’s just been admitted. You might want to get your arse over to the hospital to be with your wife. This is pretty fucking significant.”_ There was a moment of silence and all of a sudden he heard “Oh my god.” on the other end.

_“John?”_

_“Get to St Mary’s as soon as you can. I’ll look after Molly.”_ John just smiled and hung up with Sherlock, staying on long enough to hear him yelling for Greg, which told John all he needed to know about where he’d found Sherlock. Of course, he’d interrupted a case. It was a show of great maturity from Sherlock that he was willing to drop everything at the drop of a hat.

 

When he reached the hospital, John parked in the designated spots along South Wharf Road set aside for hospital vehicles. Grabbing his work-bag, and checking his time, John locked the Rover and headed down Norfolk Place on foot, cutting right at Praed Street. In no time, he had badged himself in through the staff entrance and headed for the locker-rooms. Dropping off his gear, he clocked into the system and went to find Molly Hooper. She was up on the maternity wards, and she wasn’t alone. Not that he’d expected her to be.

“Hello, Molly!” He greeted her as he stepped into her room, a private room, of course. “How are you, love?”

“That ... was fast!” Molly looked absolutely miserable, but she managed to smile at him. “They just called you!”

“My office is just ten minutes’ drive from here, sweetie.” He smiled and took her hand, kissing her on the forehead as he took note of everything. She had been hooked up to the proper IVs, but they weren’t giving her anything but fluids for the time being, and she was also hooked up to the proper monitoring devices for both herself and the baby.

“How did you get here, Molls?”

“Oh, Mrs ... H, she drove me down.”

“Thank you so much for that, Mrs Hudson.” John looked over and smiled at his former landlady, who just beamed at him from the nearby easy-chair.

“Of course I drove her down, silly boy! I wasn’t about to leave that to a cabbie, was I?” She gave him a sly look. At the moment, she was occupied with a pair of knitting-needles and brightly-coloured yarn.

“I wouldn’t expect you to, Mrs Hudson.” He chuckled and made sure Molly was comfortable before he left.

“Where are you going?”

“Rounds to do, love. If anything comes up, I’m right here, okay? Just take it easy and let your little one come when she’s good and ready.” He looked at his watch and raised an eyebrow, “Which, I imagine, could be any time she felt like coming now. I won’t be long, I only have a few patients to see to.”

“Okay.” Molly didn’t look very happy with that, but there was no reason for him to stay just at the moment.

“I’ll be back in no time, I promise.” He squeezed her hand as a contraction took over, “Breathe through it, my dear.”

“Ugh! Ugh!”

“God bless you, Molly Hooper, you’re one of the strongest women I know.” He sighed, stroking her sweat-damp hair. As he stepped out of the room, he started a timer on his watch.

“John!” A shout from up the hallway distracted him and he looked up to see Sherlock coming his way at a run, Greg in close tow behind.

“Oh, calm down, Sherlock. You’re not missing the important bits. Mrs Hudson is with her right now, brought her down from Baker Street. You can go sit with her.”

“Both of us?”

“Unless Greg needs to get back to the scene I dragged you away from?”

“I can stay for a bit.” Greg ruffled his hair. “Sure beats what I was doing earlier.”

“Alright. You two go keep Molly company, I’ve got patients to see.” John just smiled and held the door for the pair as they went inside and greeted Molly, who cried a little when she saw Sherlock. She was fine, he promised, just emotional and overwhelmed with hormones and what was happening.

“You know how to reach me if you need something.” He said as he left the room.

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock had taken up post by Molly’s bedside and didn’t seem inclined to leave soon. As he walked away from the room, John retrieved his phone and sent off a quick text.

 

**Baby Girl Holmes is on her way. Will call when she arrives. – JW**

With that business managed, he went off to take care of a few outstanding patients requiring his attentions. It was time to play the waiting game. To her credit, Molly was a star patient and made very few demands or complaints. John couldn’t quite say the same of her fiancé, but he had to give Sherlock credit where due. His best friend and former partner was handling this rather well, if not in his usual fashion. He asked questions and demanded difficult answers, thorough answers, but John was used to dealing with Sherlock and had no problem handling the very nervous father-to-be.

“It’s been a while since I delivered a baby, Sherlock, but I know what I’m doing. I’ll make sure your little girl comes out healthy and whole. And I’ll keep your wife the same.” He promised once while the two of them stood outside Molly’s room. She had asked for just the midwife and Mrs Hudson, effectively kicking them out of the room.

“What should I do, John?”

“Right now? Go keep Greg company for a bit.” He gave Sherlock a push in a certain direction, “I’ll grab you when it’s time.”

“Do you promise?”

“You have my word.” John said, pointing, “Go on.”

“Okay. Thank you, John.” Sherlock adjusted his coat and looked around before wandering off towards the nearby waiting room where Greg had camped out.

Greg had somehow managed to stick around, disappearing for a bit before returning with a work-bag over one shoulder and a promise that as long as they needed him, he was available. He had switched schedules with another DI and owed Robert Dimmock at least half a shift, but Dimmock had promised it was no problem to cover for Greg if he was needed elsewhere. Really, Greg had better things to be doing than sitting at the hospital waiting for another man’s baby to be born, but this was important to him to be present and they all knew that. The fact that he _wanted_ to be here was touching. And it was keeping Sherlock busy, too, considering he’d brought a few case-files along to be worked on.

 

John ducked into the room to see how it was going and was quickly shooed away again by the women.

“We don’t need you yet, Doctor Watson.” The midwife, a seasoned woman named Melody who had six grandchildren and four grown adult children and had worked labour and delivery longer than John had been practising medicine in London, just waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Alright. If you say so, Melody.”

“I say. And you can tell that scamp Holmes to keep his nose out. I know he’s out there prowling like a caged animal.”

“I sent him to go bother Lestrade for a bit.” John smiled as he checked Molly’s vitals and the baby’s. Everything looked fine.

“Is she okay, John?” Molly asked wearily.

“She’s doing just fine, Molly. I was just telling Sherlock, it’s been a while since I delivered a baby, but I know what I’m doing.” He smoothed back sweat-damp hair with a reassuring smile. “I’ll step out for a bit, but you know how to reach me. Have Melody page me or use the call-button, love.”

“T-thanks, John.” She gave him a bit of a smile and he left her with Melody for the time being.

 

He got in another set of rounds with the patients on his roster before checking back in with Sherlock and Greg before stopping by to see how Molly was holding up.

“It’s ... getting harder.”

“I’m right here, Molls.” He said softly, “I promise, I’m right here with you.”

“I don’t think I would ... trust anyone else.” She squeezed his hand as a contraction swept over her. This one was stronger than the last few had been and John knew it would be any time now. He looked at the monitors and then looked at Melody, who nodded.

“You’re okay, Molly. You’re doing great, just relax, love.” He coached. “Do you want me to go find Sherlock now?”

“Do you ... mind?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll be right back.” He smiled and kissed her hand, “You just hang in there a bit longer, Molly, the hard bit’s not over.”

“T-thanks, John.” She grunted as Melody took his place. He ducked out again and headed for the waiting room, where he found Sherlock and Greg talking through a rather tricky case that proved just interesting enough for Sherlock.

“Sherlock?” He kept his voice calm and casual, but even Sherlock knew what he sounded like when it was important, so when his partner’s head tilted, he raised an eyebrow.

“Sherlock.”

“Hmm?”

“She’s asking for you now.” Well, that worked.

“She _is_?”

“Go on.” He indicated the proper direction with a tilt of his own head. In a heartbeat, Sherlock was up on his feet and gone down the hall. John looked at Greg and smiled.

“Want me to keep you informed, Greg?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind?”

“No problem! Sit tight.” He patted Greg on the shoulder and went back to the room, where he found Sherlock holding Molly’s hand. This was it, they were in the home-stretch, the final stages. Mrs Hudson left to go keep Greg company, John promised it wouldn’t be a long wait, and he gave Sherlock and Melody instructions.

“Hold her feet, hold her steady.” He directed, looking at Molly, who was struggling against instinct as old as time. “Molly?”

“What!”

“Please don’t hold your breath, love. You’ll pass out if you do that.” He squeezed her ankle, “Push when your body tells you to. Do not fight it, follow your body’s cues.”

“I ... I can’t, John!”

“Yes, you can, Molly. I know it hurts, but you can.” He looked at Sherlock, who was calm but nervous.

“Tell me what to do!”

“Calm down, Molly. And push. Push against our hands.” He said calmly, waiting for her to follow his instructions. He could see the head, but couldn’t get hands on the baby yet. Molly’s instinct kicked in at that moment and she began to push in earnest, resting when she needed to. Then, with a yell, it was over. It got quiet in the delivery room, but not for very long as a thin, high-pitched wail broke out. John looked up at Molly, who had slumped against the pillow, sweaty and exhausted, and beamed.

“You did it, Molls.”

“How ... how is she?” Molly rasped. “Can I see her now?”

“Absolutely. She’s probably one of the healthiest newborns I’ve ever seen, and certainly one of the prettiest.” He wiped off the white slick covering the pink, wrinkled skin, and carefully handed the infant to the mother, helping Molly rest her daughter against her chest for some skin-to-skin contact.

“Oh, she’s ... gorgeous!” Molly said shakily, nearly in tears, “Sherlock! Look!”

“She’s so ... _small_.” Sherlock studied his newborn daughter curiously. “I didn’t think she would be so tiny.”

“She’ll grow big soon enough.” John stripped off his gloves and took a clean pair from Melody, as he smiled at Molly, who just nodded wearily. This was actually the easy part, so it didn’t take very long.

 

After delivering the afterbirth, which Sherlock wanted to keep for “experimental purposes”, and cutting the umbilical, which would be saved for cord-blood banking, John dismissed the care team and looked at the exhausted, enthralled new parents. Sherlock carefully lifted his daughter into his arms when Molly asked if he wanted to hold her, Melody showed him how to hold her properly, and John just smiled.

“If you two want a few minutes to yourselves, Melody and I will step out. If you need us, use the call-button or come find us.” John said quietly as he went around the bed. “I never asked what you had decided to name her, did I?”

“This is Jacqueline Constance Regina Holmes.” Sherlock looked at his daughter and smiled, that uncertain, proud smile he had seen dozens of times on every new parent he encountered. John looked at the tiny bundle of humanity he had just helped bring into the world and then at the parents. Melody had stepped in at some point and helped Molly work out the mechanics of the first feeding and it seemed to be going smoothly.

“She’s adorable. Do you want me to go tell Mrs Hudson and Greg?”

“Please do, John. And thank you so much, for everything.” Sherlock had his full attention on his little family. John just smiled and slipped his phone back into his pocket as he stepped out, Melody in close tow behind. As the door closed behind them, John let out a sigh of relief and ruffled his hair.

“When’s the last time you delivered a healthy babe like that one, Doctor Watson?”

“Oh, it’s been absolute ages, Melody.” He looked over his shoulder at the door, “I was so shocked when Molly’s name came up on my roster of patients, but I never regretted the responsibility. She’s my friend.”

“Shall I have them moved to the post wards?”

“Yes, as soon as they’re ready to be moved.” John flicked a speck of lint from his scrub-top and wished for a moment for his lab-coat, but he had chucked it fairly early on. “And once they’re settled, they can receive any visitors who’ve come to see them.”

“Of course, Doctor Watson.” Melody smiled and let him continue on his own, falling back to report back to the station desk and wait. John made his way to the waiting room he’d left Mrs Hudson and Greg in, retrieving his phone as he walked and unlocking it with a few precise taps on the screen. He had very carefully gotten a few pictures of Jacqueline immediately following her birth and he had to admit that for a newborn, she was very cute. Pink and wrinkly, adorably ugly as all newborns always were, but she promised a great beauty in her maturity. Sherlock would definitely have his hands full as she grew up. John realized he hadn’t had a chance to properly hold Jacqueline Holmes yet, but there would be opportunities to do that later.

 

Reaching the waiting room, he stepped through the door as it slid open, focused on his phone but very aware of the people _in_ the room, those who were there on his business and those awaiting word of their own loved ones. Over the past half-hour or so, Mrs Hudson and Greg had gotten some company and John was and was not surprised to see so many people gathered. Family and friends alike had gathered to wait for word and he was pleased to give them the good news. Not surprisingly, Mycroft was pacing back and forth near the wall, quietly intimidating the other visitors. As he caught sight of John on a turn, he stilled and John just smiled, nodding. He held out his phone to Mycroft and let him take it. Mycroft swiped through the few pictures John had on his phone.

“Were there any complications?”

“None. They’re all doing just fine.”

“Thank Christ.” His shoulders sagged with relief and he passed John his phone once he’d seen the pictures.

“Your niece is the healthiest baby I’ve delivered to date, Mycroft, I can’t say that for everyone.” He took his phone back and looked at the rest of them. “They haven’t been moved to the post wards yet, but if you’d like to wait in a private area until they have been, you’re welcome to.”

“Yes, Doctor Watson, please.” Mycroft happily spoke for the whole lot and John smiled.

“Come with me, then.” He left the room again and led the way to another private waiting area where they would be alone and no one else aside from staff would ever bother them. Along the way, Melody let him know that she had gone ahead and moved Molly and Jacqueline to Alec Bourne II, they would be happy to take visitors as soon as anyone was willing to see them. Mycroft would, of course, be first to visit, along with Mrs Hudson, who had finished a baby blanket while waiting for some word. She had been working on it since finding out about Molly’s pregnancy, and it was truly a work of art, done in multicoloured yarn every shade of the rainbow and some and quite large enough to last several years and grow with Jacqueline. Showing them to the waiting room, he informed them that Molly and Sherlock were willing to begin taking visitors. They were outside of the protected hours and he got the feeling Sherlock wanted to brag a bit, share. As he’d suspected, Mycroft and Mrs Hudson were the first to visit and he took them to the proper room. He knocked before entering, of course, and opened the door to let Mycroft in first. Hearing the door open, Sherlock appeared in a flash. His arms were _not_ empty, not that John had really expected them to be, and when he saw his brother, his expression was priceless.

“Mycroft.”

“Sherlock. May I?”

“Oh, god, yes. Please.” Sherlock nodded, “She’s your niece, after all. Come see.” He just smiled at his brother as John quietly closed the door after dismissing Melody and the nurses. He could look after things for a while, this was personal now and they were all but family to him. Once the door was closed, Sherlock handed Jacqueline to Mycroft and helped him hold her properly after he had washed his hands, but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He got a strange expression on his face as he studied his tiny newborn niece and John tilted his head.

“Sherlock.” He spoke quietly. Sherlock came right over and they watched Mycroft for a while as Mrs Hudson went to look after Molly.

“Is my brother going to _cry_?” Sherlock whispered.

“Wouldn’t blame him if he does, I know you have.” John just folded his arms across his chest, nudging his friend in the side. “Think you’re ready for parenthood?”

“No. But, ready or not.” Sherlock shook his head ruefully and John chuckled.

“Here it comes?”

“Here it comes,” Sherlock said, looking at his brother curiously. “Mycroft? Are you alright?”

“I’m ... overwhelmed.” Mycroft turned to them, his whole demeanour soft and uncertain, so completely unlike the persona they were familiar with. “I think ... I think the last time I held an infant like this was ... ” He trailed off, looking down at his newborn niece and smiled. “I was ten years old. I knew it was important, I knew it was ... special.”

“Oh, Mycroft.” John sighed. “It’s been that long? All this time?”

“Every single, agonizing moment, Doctor Watson.”

“I’m so sorry, Mycroft.”Sherlock looked a little heartbroken, realizing just for the first time that he hadn’t been quite as good to Mycroft as he should have been as a brother. Mycroft hadn’t done all of those things because he _had_ to, he’d done them because he _wanted_ to, and nothing was more important in his life than making sure his baby brother was kept safe and never wanted for anything.

“No. Don’t apologize. You’ve just given me ... well, look at her!” Mycroft raised his eyes to look at them, his expression smitten. “She’s beautiful, she’s _perfect_!”

“And whatever she wants, she’ll get it.” John smiled, wondering that Jacqueline Holmes would be the most beloved, most protected, most spoiled child in London. And what a genuinely strange family she’d been born into!

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock said softly, “I don’t ... ”

“It’s fine, Sherlock.” He reached over and squeezed Sherlock’s bicep. “It’s _all_ fine.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” John just smiled, “Go be with your family, Sherlock. It’s about time I got home to mine. I’m on call if anything comes up, you can always text or call me on your own.”

“Let me ... walk you out?”

“Sure!”

“Where the hell do you think _you’re_ going, young man?” Mrs Hudson interrupted them and they turned as one, as in the old days before John had moved out to live with Jim.

“Mrs Hudson?”

“I asked where you thought you were going, John. You haven’t even got a chance to hold her yet!”

“Oh, it’s fine, Mrs Hudson, I’ll stop by Baker Street in a few days to see her. Give Sherlock and Molly a bit of time to settle.”

“Rubbish!” She levelled him with a familiar look and he just traded a fondly exasperated look with Sherlock. “You stay right there, young man.” John just folded his arms and waited as Mrs Hudson went to Mycroft, who was completely smitten with his newborn niece and convinced him to surrender Jacqueline long enough to let John have a chance to hold her before he clocked out for the day.

“Now, I take it you know what to do with a newborn, John Watson.” Mrs Hudson was back and offering him a blanket-wrapped bundle. John looked at Sherlock as he took little Jacqueline into his arms. She didn’t weigh very much, they’d measured her at eight pounds and eighteen inches at birth, but she was a very pleasant little weight in his arms.

“She’s beautiful.” He said quietly. It had been quite a while since he’d worked labour and delivery, and it would very likely be just as long until he did it in the future, but he didn’t mind.

“Thank you, John. Thank you for everything.” Sherlock stood by him, one arm around his shoulders. “You did this, you brought her safely into the world. You took care of Molly and kept her comfortable, kept her calm.”

“I kept _both_ of you calm, you idiot.” He chuckled, “But you were one of the best expectant fathers I had anything to do with. You didn’t overreact the way I’ve seen some fathers. Mothers too, for that matter.” Jacqueline squirmed and made a soft sound, John reached out and touched her forehead.

“Oh, you’re alright, little girl. I’ll give you back to your mum, let you rest up. I’ll come see you in a few days.” He looked at the brothers and smiled. The sound of the door opening got his attention and he looked over his shoulder.

“Oh, look who it is! Want to say hello to your Uncle Jim?” Sherlock snickered, grunted when Mycroft corrected him.

“What?”

“Manners, Sherlock.”

“How’s Molly?” Jim asked quietly, glancing at the curtained enclosure.

“Resting.”

“Any problems?”

“None.” John rocked the newborn in his arms. “Come say hello, Jim.”

“Don’t need to ask _me_ twice!” His fiancé came over and looked at Jacqueline. “Oh, she’s a little thing, isn’t she? Pretty little thing, too!”

“By looks, I’d say she’s got more of Sherlock in her.” John grinned at the smitten new father.

“We’ll have to see about her temper, won’t we?”

“Not too long.” He chuckled, getting a dirty look for that.

“Can I hold her?”

“Hygiene protocols?”

“Done.”

“I don’t see why not.” Sherlock folded his arms, a bit of a troubling smile on his face. “After all, I suppose it is the right of the godfathers to hold her, isn’t it?”

“What?” John traded a look with Jim as he handed over Jacqueline, showed him how to properly hold the newborn.

“Oh, you heard me.” Sherlock gave them that look of his and looked at the curtain for a moment. “Molly and I were discussing it and we want you both to be Jacqueline’s godfathers.”

“But, shouldn’t you ask ... ” John looked at Mycroft and Greg.

“They already asked us, of course we said yes,” Greg said.

“Oh.  Well, I’m fine with that.” John said, “I don’t think Jim minds either.”

“Of course I don’t mind!”Jim rolled his eyes. “I just came to fetch John home, this was an unexpected little bonus.”

“You’ll do it, then?”

“Absolutely.” Jim nodded decisively, “We’d love to.”

“And Mrs Hudson will be her godmother.”

“Oh, she’ll love that!” John chuckled as Jim handed Jacqueline back to her father and went to see Molly before taking his leave. She was doing very well, and he suspected they might be going home by sundown if little Jacqueline remained in good health during the immediate post-natal period as she had so far.

“I’ll stop by Baker Street in a day or two to check on you all.” He promised, “Rest up, my dear, you’ll be home and asleep in your own bed by tonight.”

“Thank you so much, John.” Molly smiled up at him as she took Jacqueline from Sherlock, “I don’t know if I could have managed it without you.”

“Well, not to brag, but not nearly half as well.” John grinned. Leaning over, he kissed Molly on the cheek and then did the same with Jacqueline.

“Welcome to the craziest family I’ve ever seen, baby girl. We’ll take good care of you.” He knew he could leave them with Melody and the staff. John smiled at the new family and took Sherlock’s hand in his. “Call if anything comes up, otherwise I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Of course we will!” Sherlock promised, “Thank you, John, for this and everything else you do.”

“Someone has to keep an eye on you, Holmes, you can’t seem bothered to do the job yourself.” He said cheerfully, “And less so now that you’re a parent!” That got an eye-roll and Sherlock chuckled.

“Oh, as if you mind the job that much!”

“Absolutely not!” John just smiled and tugged a wrinkle out of his sleeve. With his part done for the moment, John said his final goodbyes and left with Jim. They dropped by the locker-room and John took the time to clock out. When they reached the street, they found the Jag parked in the spot John had taken earlier that afternoon. His car was gone, having been moved, and Seb appeared the minute they showed themselves, opening the back door for them. Sherlock stood on the kerb until they were out of sight, John saw him there when he looked over his shoulder.

“Camden, Seb, please and thank you very much.” John said wearily as he dropped into the car. He had the next two days off, and he was desperately in need of that break. Seb and Jim just looked at each other. Seb got them underway and the drive to Wadham Gardens was quiet. As was his practice, John retreated straight to the bedroom, took a long, hot shower, and went straight to bed. Victor was quick to join him, and John knew when Jim stopped in to check on him.

* * *

* * *

 


End file.
